


I Want You To

by minyrrds



Series: if you're wondering [1]
Category: All For the Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Fake/Pretend Relationship, M/M, artist!neil, baker!andrew, just really self indulgent fluff right here, there will be so many tattoos also, wow look at the trash i have made for u here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-07
Updated: 2016-06-15
Packaged: 2018-06-06 21:23:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 21,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6770455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/minyrrds/pseuds/minyrrds
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Foxhole was a hole in the wall, quite literally. It was painted a muted orange with a series of white paw marks trailing across the wall that glowed under the pale yellow lighting of the café, with a small curled up fox painted right up against the counter. The sign said open, and the lights were on (well some of them were), but there was not a soul else in the café. The chairs were still stacked on the tables, and the register appeared to be turned off. Neil checked his watch, it read 5:26, and he figured he would have to get moving soon to keep to his schedule (even though there was nothing that required him to keep that schedule), coffee cart coffee wasn’t terrible (only it was), and maybe Renee had messed up and meant to tell him a later time (even though he had gotten his hopes up for halfway decent coffee entering his life). </p><p>(A fake dating coffee shop au blend!)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So I was trying to make it through class the other day without dying and [luna](http://minyardandrevv.tumblr.com) suggested a fake dating au or a coffee shop au and I thought WHY NOT BOTH so here were are now
> 
> Title from The Wombats "(If You're Wondering If I Want You To) I Want You To"
> 
> (all credit goes to nora for making a series that makes my heart hurt)

Neil decided he hated Mondays. He hated Mondays and he especially hated the coffee cart that sat outside the building to his studio. There weren’t many places that kept up with his hours though, and it was lucky he could get coffee that he didn’t brew himself in his apartment at 5:30 in the morning. So he went through his routine: get up at 4:30, go for a run, take a shower, get dressed, go to the goddamn fucking piece of shit coffee cart, go into his studio and stare at a blank canvas for at least four hours before giving up and eventually going down to the ceramics studio in the basement to work on the series of small pots that he had been commissioned for. He’d stay there all day until Jean or Jeremy (or sometimes both) would show up and drag him out of the studio for dinner, or if Neil was feeling particularly annoying, coffee and some argument about the current medium Jean was trying to master.

Jean and Jeremy had been dating for longer than Neil had known them, sharing a small apartment a few blocks from Neil’s own, and hosting most of their gallery showings as a pair. Both used to play Exy in college, but chose to pursue art careers instead of going pro (disappointing more than one pro-team in the process). They both had at least a few inches on him, Jeremy being the taller of the two by a little over an inch, but the resemblance stopped there. Jeremy was all tanned skin and laugh lines, his curly hair cut long enough at the top that he could (and frequently would) tie it back in a knot away from the shaved sides of his head. He had kind brown eyes and lived in tank tops and shorts, only giving into longer pants when the weather turned colder, and forever bemoaning the state of his hands from all the glasswork he did. Jean’s hair was straight, dark, and brushed around his shoulders. He went through multiple packs of hair ties a month, and Jeremy had taken to keeping a few on him at all times for when Jean was particularly upset and his hair was annoying him (he loved Jeans hair and had casually mentioned on a few occasions that he would mourn it were Jean to cut it off). Jean had bright green eyes, a heartbreaking smile that he saved for Jeremy, and lived in long sleeves and dark jeans. The two were a painfully attractive couple, and they knew it.

That night, Jean was currently in his metalworking phase, and the three of them had decided to go out for some pho, and Neil was bored enough to pick a fight with Jean over technique (he had worked with silver once in his life and left with enough burns to be put off from ever handling the stuff again).

“Tu peux pas dire ‘it’s easy enough’ quand tu ne le fais jamais! Tu peux dire rien!” Jean was fuming over his noodles, and Jeremy carefully placed a hand on his boyfriend’s gesturing arm to keep him from knocking over his food. “C’est pas comme tes toiles! C’est un object physique et il faut que tu le comprennes comment-”

“Jean, give it a rest I’m trying to eat my noodles.” Neil waved him off with a quietly amused smirk. “I bow to your superiority with metal, but I still say it’s worth shit.” He ducked at the balled up napkin Jean chucked at him.

“Babe, that wasn’t very nice.” Jeremy admonished, despite the growing grin on his face (he would never stop being so fond of this boy, it was really going to be a problem one of these days).

Jean huffed and went back to his noodles, silently fuming and earning Neil a “did you really have to do this to me” look from Jeremy. Neil shrugged back and returned to his noodles.

“Tu sais,” Jean said around a spoonful of broth. “I was going to tell you about Renee’s new coffee shop, because it keeps the same inane hours as you do, but now I’m certain you don’t deserve it.”

There were few things in the world that Neil treasured more than his morning coffee (and it sorely pained him that he was too lazy to do anything to improve the quality of the coffee he put into his body every morning.

Renee was an old friend of Jean’s from college that Neil had only met once or twice when she had come for Jean’s exhibitions or the gallery shows that they were all featured in. Other than Jeremy and Neil, she was the person that communicated the most with Jean, and Jean would readily admit any day that he would take her over Neil in a heartbeat (to which Neil rolled his eyes and Jeremy chuckled). She had recently moved to the area, but Neil hadn’t heard where she had started working yet.

Renee was the kind of sweet that made Neil uncomfortable, and he didn’t understand how she had become such good friends with the son of a gangster without meeting Jeremy first. She was a born-again Christian with pastel hair and an ever present cross around her neck who wore combat boots and carried a butterfly knife on her at all times; Neil didn’t know what to make of her, but Jean loved her like a sister.

“If it keeps the same hours as I do there’s no way their coffee is anywhere near decent.” Neil responded, rolling his eyes and fishing out his wallet to leave a ten on the table for the food. “Now there’s a canvas and a brand new bottle of Cadmium Red acrylic waiting for me in my studio, so I’ll see you both later.”

Jeremy gave a small wave and Jean barely regarded his exit at all, instead turning with a mischievous grin to press a kiss to Jeremy’s cheek for the moment where his attention was directed elsewhere, earning a surprised noise from his boyfriend, and a kiss back.

 

Neil hadn’t really wanted to return to the studio, but sometimes Jeremy and Jean were just too happy, too sweet to be around, especially when he was feeling more down on himself than usual, so he took the long way back to the studio.

The sunset cast a rich purple glow over the tops of the buildings and Neil mentally catalogued the color for his next project. It reminded him of his mother’s favourite skirt and the way it would twirl around her legs when she would dance with him as a child. The ink stains that were splattered against the hem from the first time she had given him a pen and some sketching paper to practice on, and the small streaks of acrylic that lined the waist from her own artwork. It was messy and stained and covered in memories from all the emotions she had hidden from him (she had hidden from the world, really) and poured out onto a canvas. She was wearing it the night his father had found them, hiding in a small studio covered in his watercolors and her portrait, while he hid in the cabinet under the bathroom sink until morning when he was sure Nathan had gone and the smell of death had started to set in; he burned it the next morning with the body. But the sunset was sweet, orange bleeding into purple; he liked the way the colors mixed with the thought of night and day melding into each other, and figured he could maybe make something tangible out of it. He was halfway between the restaurant and the studio when he bumped into Renee.

“Oh Neil, hi!” She had been moments from colliding with him, just stepping to the side at the right moment to avoid spilling her tea all down his front.

Neil blinked a couple of times, readjusting to the world outside his head, and turned his face up to look her in the eye.

“Hey Renee, how’ve you been?” Neil slid his trembling hands into his front pockets so she wouldn’t notice the way he was struggling to stay present there in front of her, and tried for an easy smile across his face.

“I’m alright! Just headed to work right now actually, I started at a small bakery just around the corner from here a few days ago.” She smiled and sipped on her tea, either oblivious to Neil’s current uncomfort or choosing to ignore it out of kindness.

“Oh yeah, Jean mentioned something about its odd hours at dinner,” he flitted his attention to the almost entirely gone sunset over her left shoulder for a moment, and quietly mourned his mother for one last moment before he tucked it deep down inside of him and firmly planted himself back in the real world.

“It does, we run very nearly close to twenty-four hours, but that mostly depends on the head baker and when he feels like coming in.” She shrugged, adjusting the strap of her back on her shoulder. “It’s a nice place, the hours are flexible and it pays well. I could be doing far worse, so I’m just grateful to be here.”

Renee’s unending faith in the world consistently baffled Neil; he couldn’t wrap his head around someone being so sure that there would always be good around them and that it would win in the end, things like that just never happened in the lives of people like him.

Neil realized he had waited to long to respond, mulling over Renee’s opinion of humanity, when he finally opened his mouth to speak and Renee cut him off with an apologetic smile.

“I’ve really got to be going though, I’m going to be late and I don’t want to make Dan late for her other job. I’ll text you the address though, in case you decide to drop buy and say hi sometime.” And with one more parting smile, Renee silently stepped past him and picked up her pace in the direction he had just came. Neil watched her walk away for a moment before shaking out his shoulders a bit and walking back to his studio and the blank canvas that wasn’t going to be filled anytime soon.

 

 

 _it’s two blocks west of that pho place jean says you like_ , Renee texts him later.

_we’re opening up tomorrow at 5a if you want to stop buy for a cup of coffee, just tell Andrew it’s on me_

thanks renee

_np (: it’s called the foxhole_

 

 

The Foxhole was a hole in the wall, quite literally. It was painted a muted orange with a series of white paw marks trailing across the wall that glowed under the pale yellow lighting of the café, with a small curled up fox painted right up against the counter. The sign said open, and the lights were on (well some of them were), but there was not a soul else in the café. The chairs were still stacked on the tables, and the register appeared to be turned off. Neil checked his watch, it read 5:26, and he figured he would have to get moving soon to keep to his schedule (even though there was nothing that required him to keep that schedule), coffee cart coffee wasn’t terrible (only it was), and maybe Renee had messed up and meant to tell him a later time (even though he had gotten his hopes up for halfway decent coffee entering his life).

Neil was caught up in his own internal monologue and didn’t notice the unimpressed, five-foot tall person who had taken up residence behind the counter.

He had pale blonde hair with fading pastel pink streaks (that looked surprising like the color of Renee’s own hair), and wore a simple black tshirt and shorts, something that Neil thought to be highly impractical, working in a bakery and already being covered in flour this early in the morning.  
“Uh yeah, a cup of coffee?” Neil ran his right hand over the buzzed section of hair at the back of his head.

The barista didn’t bother responding, he just turned towards the small coffee thermos that was sitting behind the counter before unscrewing it and unceremoniously pouring its contents into a paper to-go cup.

Neil blinked a few times and crossed the room to the counter in mild confusion. “Uh-?” He threw a confused look at the barista who responded with an unimpressed look of his own.

“You’re Renee’s friend.” Neil only nodded. “She mentioned you would be coming in for coffee, and I’m not going to brew an entire thermos for one person when our next customer won’t be coming in for another hour at least.” He reached for a plastic lid and popped it onto the cup before fitting it into a bright orange sleeve that had “The Foxhole” printed on it in white looping script.

“How much?” Neil asked, fishing through his coat for his wallet.

The barista considered him for a moment. “Your name.”

Neil froze. “Excuse me?”

“Your name for a cup of coffee. Not a difficult concept.”

The barista cocked his head to the side, considering Neil for a moment and Neil considered him right back. There was a smudge of flour covering his left cheek and a couple puffs here and there on the black, elbow length armbands he wore. His right eyebrow had a small scar cutting through it towards the end, and both of his ears were pierced. In the dim light Neil could also make out the barest indent of a lip piercing that once sat in the middle of his bottom lip.

Neil imagined he must be a sight for sore eyes himself, dressed in faded grey, a tshirt already covered in acrylic and a pair of cargo pants covered in concrete colored splotches of clay that he never quite was able to get out. His long sleeves hid the scarring and tattoos that crawled up his arms, but there was nothing to cover the massive burn and several long scars that covered his cheekbones (Alvarez said they made him look “rugged”, whatever that meant). He had paint and clay under his fingernails and his lip was cracked and bleeding from him chewing on it during his run. A great first impression he was making.

“Neil.” He raised an eyebrow expectantly, hoping for the barista to volunteer similar information.  
“Now tell me a truth, because that name is sure as hell a lie.” The barista was unimpressed and held the thermos far enough out of Neil’s reach that he would have to lunge over the counter with it if he wanted to leave this conversation without giving up any more information about himself but still leaving with his coffee.

“I should get more than just coffee for that.” Neil tried bargaining with him, on the slim chance that he might actually be able to get a name from the person who was holding his coffee hostage at 5:33 in the morning.

“What do you want?” The barista looked mildly amused beneath his unimpressed stare and Neil figured he’d be unlikely to receive what he asked for, but it couldn’t hurt.

“Your name.”

The barista left out a small puff of air that was a snort in another life. “A name for a name. Sounds fair.”

Neil ran his hands through his wet hair and felt the curls tug against his fingers. “Abram.”

“Andrew.” Andrew held the coffee out to him, all traces of humor gone from his face. “I expect the thermos back tomorrow.”

Neil’s hand darted out and grabbed the thermos before Andrew could changed his mind and gave him a small nod in acquiescence to his request, and ducked out of the shop in record time.

 

 

Jeremy came to find Neil for lunch a few hours later.

“I hear you went to Renee’s bakery this morning.” Jeremy leaned against the doorframe to Neil’s main studio, admiring the blossoming canvas of poppies that Neil was working on for his next commission.

Neil turned around and responded with a raised eyebrow, paintbrush sitting between his teeth and paint smeared all over his hands and a few flecks here and there on his face.

“Word travels fast, especially between Jean and Renee. I swear, sometimes I think he loves her more than me.” Jeremy’s smile gave away the lack of any real heat behind his last comment but Neil snorted anyway, turning to drop his paintbrush in a nearby jar of water and moving towards the sink to try and get at least some of the paint off of his arms.

“Where are we going for food?” Neil tipped his head back in a show of listening to Jeremy as he scrubbed his hands raw in an attempt to get the paint off.

“The Foxhole. Jean wants to see Renee during her shift and you know how hard it is to pry them off of each other.” He sounded apologetic, but Neil couldn’t quite place why. The coffee Andrew had given him that morning was some of the best he had ever had (and he drank a lot of coffee); he had to stop himself from making obscene noises as he drank it on his way to the studio.

“That’s fine.” Neil responded, rolling up his sleeves and pulling his wallet and phone out of his jacket and switching them into his pants pockets. “I can return something to there then.”

Jeremy watched Neil grab Andrew’s thermos from the ground near his stool (he had been careful to keep from getting paint on it at all, and the matte black surface mutely shined back at him with his effort). Jeremy almost wanted to comment on it, but settled for moving his attention elsewhere as Neil rinsed it out in the sink. Neil turned back to Jeremy, who had become absorbed with the way Neil was caking on paint to give the painting a more textured feel.

“Must be hell to fix if you fuck up.” Jeremy looked to him, arms still crossed over his chest and waiting for Neil to finish slipping on his shoes.

Neil shrugged. “I don’t fuck up.”

That earned a laugh from Jeremy and a rough ruffling of his hair from the taller boy. “Cocky shit. Come on, let’s go.”

A year ago, Jeremy wouldn’t have even thought touching Neil so casually, but here they were, twelve months and a whole lot of late night talks later, and Neil still couldn’t duck out of the way when Jeremy went to wreck his hair into his face.

“Yeah yeah, coming.”

 

 

The Foxhole looked pretty much the same in the streaming daylight as it did in the muted colors of the morning, only the chairs were down and there were significantly more people residing in the space.

Renee was perched against the inside of the counter, talking to Jean, while an Andrew look-alike, minus the piercings, hair dye, and armbands and wearing mostly neutral colors, worked the espresso machine. From the noise, it seemed like people were shouting in the kitchen, and it was drawing the attention of more than one person. Neil made out some German here and there, but the door muffled the noise for the most part. Renee gave Jean an apologetic look before turning back to slip through the kitchen door.

“Hey babe,” Jeremy called over to his boyfriend, finding a table for the three of them. “Wanna come take a seat with us?” Jean gave them both an easy smile and trotted over to take the seat next to Jeremy.

“So you met Andrew.” He didn’t phrase it as a question but Neil shrugged anyway.

“Something like that. He makes good coffee.”

“Funny, Renee said he never comes out front to meet customers.” Jean’s tone wasn’t accusatory, just curious, but Neil’s cheeks heated slightly anyway.

“Well he was there. I’m pretty sure we were the only two people alive for at least a few miles radius, unlike some lazy assholes I know.” He grinned, trying to push off the weight that was hiding behind Jean’s words.

Jeremy laughed and opened his mouth to say something, but was cut off by the kitchen door banging open and Andrew striding out angrily with a pack of cigarettes in hand, followed by an insistent boy who had at least a foot on him, if not more.

“Andrew for shits sake just let me set you up on one measly date!” The loud German caught Neil’s attention; it had been years since he had heard German spoken aloud, and his language skills were a little rusty.

The boy trailing behind Andrew was dressed in what Neil would expect a baker to be wearing: a white apron with blue jeans and a faded white tshirt. His dark brown hair was tied back into a bun and streaks of chocolate on the backs of his hand and a little around his lip and the sparse beard growing around his chin and jaw from where he had tasted it earlier and hadn’t managed to wipe off. His left cartilage was pierced with a purple ring, and a dark chain around his neck lead to something hidden under his shirt. His eyes were bright and argumentative, and his eyebrows furrowed over them as he tried, in vain, to get his point across.

“It wouldn’t kill you to maybe let someone in! Getting laid might finally get that stick out of your-” A small knife had found its way under his chin, and his throat bobbed worriedly.

“Drop it Nicky.” Andrew murmured under his breath, a complete lack of emotion anywhere on his face.

Neil didn’t know when he got up or how he had crossed over to the two of them, leaning over the free counter space with the thermos in his hand, but the sound of his voice made Nicky almost leap.

“Hey Andrew, I never got a time for dinner later,” his words came out like a question and Andrew’s unimpressed glare slid from Nicky to Neil.

“Seven.” He paused, eyeing Neil with an eyebrow almost raised. “My shift ends around then.” The knife disappeared into the bands on Andrews arms as his bored voice responded to Neil’s question.

Nicky’s mouth had dropped wide open, and Neil couldn’t help but notice that all eyes were now on them, with more than a few shocked stares burrowing into the back of his skull. Neil just grinned his thanks and held out the thermos to Andrew’s waiting hand.

“Thanks for the coffee this morning.” Neil could tell he was pushing it but he couldn’t help but tease (Jean repeatedly reminded him that he must have a death wish with the way he went around annoying people).

Andrew rolled his eyes for the briefest second before turning away and walking back to the kitchen, and Neil was the only one who caught it as he tried his best to smother the growing smile on his face.

For another tense minute, Nicky stood stock still staring at Neil before he found his voice again and squeaked out “Well aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.”

Neil blinked in surprise, ran his hand through his hair (it was becoming a nervous habit, now that his hair was getting longer) and chuckled awkwardly. “Uh, thanks?”

“Mmhmm.” Nicky eyed Neil appreciatively, and Neil noticed the substantial height difference between them (Nicky was barely shorter than Jean, which still put him at several inches above Neil).

He held out his hand and gave Neil a sweet smile. “Nicky Hemmick, pleased to make your acquaintance.”

Neil shook it and gave Nicky a small smile of his own. “Neil Josten, you too.” He threw a worried look over his shoulder at his abandoned friends, both not-so-discreetly watching the conversation unfold in front of them. “Ah sorry, I’ve got to get back to my friends over there.” Nicky just waved him off as if to say “don’t worry about it” and followed Andrew back into the kitchen where another round of yelling began.

The café had gone mostly back to functioning, but Neil still had to pass by Renee’s knowing stare and the now empty espresso machine to get back to his table, before he was assaulted by his friends.

“What was that all about?” Jeremy asked with a raised eyebrow and amusement clear in his voice, leaning forward. “You’ve got a hot date we don’t know about?”

Neil put his head in his hands and groaned quietly. “I don’t want to talk about it. Not now, not ever, and definitely not with the two of you.”

Jean laughed and made a show of kissing Jeremy messily in front of Neil (mostly in an attempt to lighten the mood that had settled upon their table, partly because he leapt at any chance he was given to kiss his boyfriend). Renee walked over while Neil made a show of being annoyed by the couple in front of him and handed him a napkin.

“Andrew asked me to give you this,” she winked at him and pressed the napkin in his palm before turning away.

On it was a phone number and a single sentence:

_you’ve got some damn nerve josten_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the french between Jean and Neil is essentially: 
> 
> _You can't say ‘it’s easy enough’ when you've never done it! You can't say anything! It's not like your canvases! It's a physical object and you need to understand how-_ (essentially he's telling Neil to fuck off and stop making fun of metal working)


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **bolded** are texts from andrew,  underlined are texts from neil
> 
> warnings for mentions of past trauma and traumatic events (i think that's all)

“So, you ready for your date later?”

Neil could almost hear Jeremy wiggle his eyebrows from all the way over by the door and had to keep himself from throwing the nearest thing in his reach at him.

“Don’t you actually have art to make, or are you content to mooch off of Jean for the rest of your life?” He responded, and rolled his eyes. He had been so close to finishing this one section of the painting he had been working on in the morning, and Jeremy had picked the exact moment to fuck with his concentration.

Jeremy’s booming laugh echoed in the room and Neil decided his nerves were shot enough that he was done for the day with this painting at least.

“Harsh man, I thought we were friends.”

Neil picked up his brushes and one by one dropped them in jars of water as he methodically cleaned up around his easel, bit by bit, the same way he did every day. The minute he left his chair to go wash the brushes out in the sink, however, Jeremy darted for his open stool and made himself comfortable.

“Go bother your boyfriend why don’t you. And leave me alone.” Neil didn’t bother turning around; his knuckles were covered in caked bits of red paint and he was making an earnest effort in getting some of the worst of it off so he didn’t end up looking like he had committed some crime (though the red was too intensely pigmented to look like dried blood, and he would know).

“Nah, I think I’ll stick around and keep harassing you more.” Jeremy grinned and wrapped his legs around the stool. “So, you never answered my question.”

Neil finally hazarded turning around, leaning against the cold metal rim of the sink before realizing the lip was still wet where it pushed up against his shirt and leaping into the air with a small yelp that left Jeremy folded over with laughter.

“I’m pretty sure I mentioned something earlier about not talking about it with you. Ever.” He crossed his arms and made a serious effort to keep from looking Jeremy in the eye (Neil was, much like Jean, very much unable to keep from giving into Jeremy when Jeremy was being particularly persistent, and boy was Jeremy being persistent).

“Fine,” Jeremy pouted. “But at least let me call Alvarez up here to fix you up a little.”

If there was one person that Neil would let do anything to his appearance, it was Alvarez: their terrifying and commanding gallery manager who was singlehandedly responsible for selling every piece of the boys’ works that kept them fed and paid their rent. She had muscled her way into his life the day he signed the lease for the studio and had made a comfortable place for herself in it since, showing up randomly to sit in Neil’s studio from time to time and even was the subject of a series of paintings he did once (her partner, Laila, had bought a few of them to hang in their apartment). Alvarez and Laila were the last to parts of the family Neil had pieced together, even if he almost never saw Laila and his meetings with Alvarez were sporadically timed at best. They were there for him as much as Jeremy and Jean were, and that was enough to bridge the gaps of time Neil went without seeing them.

“No.”

“Too late.”

Alvarez’s laugh was distinct and echoed through the hallway leading into Neil’s studio; he groaned. Alvarez strutted in, comfortable in jeans and a tshirt, not a drop of paint on her (she swore she was incapable of producing anything remotely resembling art herself and had resigned to living vicariously though them), a large tote bag hanging off her shoulder and her long brown hair lose around her shoulders. Jeremy waved and continued to sway back and forth on Neil’s stool.

“It’s literally just a date.” Neil scrubbed at his face with both hands.

In both Alvarez and Jeremy’s opinion, it really wasn’t. In Neil’s own words, he didn’t swing. Jean and Jeremy had been together for years, and Alvarez and her girlfriend Laila had been together for almost as long, but the few times they had tried to broach the topic with Neil they had been shit down so fast that they had pretty much given up entirely on ever getting Neil a date. They just wanted him to be happy in the end, and if he was happy without someone else in his life, romantically, sexually, or both, then they were there to love him in their own overwhelming ways (they were family, something Neil scarcely thought he could ever have again, but there they were). His small family kept him safe, they kept him grounded; he couldn’t really ask for much more, and hardly ever did.

“It’s really not, now hush and let me fix you up.” She set her tote bag on the ground and leaned over to the sink to wet her hands. She ran her fingers through Neil’s hair and pulled the loose, large curls over his forehead out a little more than they were currently sitting.

“You’re not putting eyeliner on me, it’s just the first date.” Neil crossed his arms and attempted to duck out of her reach, but Alvarez had a couple of inches on him (she wasn’t tall, per say, Neil was just very short).

She shrugged. “His loss then, you look damn good in eyeliner.”

There had been a few times where Jeremy and Alvarez had talked Neil into going out with them and on those occasions he had let Alvarez have fun with whatever idea she thought would look good on Neil (a surprisingly large amount of those times involved eyeliner). Neil trusted her, but he wasn’t about to go out of his way for a date that wasn’t even real. He knew what it was like to be bothered by your friends because you weren’t interested in dating someone (and if that person just happened to make really good coffee that had perked up his day, well nobody needed to know that bit).

“Hey Neil, it’s 6:47, shouldn’t you be gone by now?” Jeremy asked, looking at his phone. Neil swore and side stepped Alvarez to grab his jacket.

“Can one of you lock up for me?” He asked as he shrugged it on.

Alvarez waved him out and Neil gave her a short two-fingered salute in thanks as he sprinted for the stairs, taking them down two at a time and ran the several blocks to the café, and just barely manages to get there on time.

A block away (and two minutes before he would be late) Neil slowed down to a jog, then a fast walk. The air outside was colder now that the sun had set and Neil felt the wet chill in the air as it sunk into his bones. Andrew was waiting outside, a dark grey coat slung on over his morning ensemble, little bits of flour still stuck to him here and there in patches. Neil slowed to a stop in front of him, all of a sudden at a loss for something to say for the first time in recent memory. Here he was, inserting himself into a stranger’s evening because he thought- Well he didn’t really know exactly what he had been thinking in the moment when it happened but there wasn’t really any turning back now that he was here.

Andrew barely grazed him with a bored look before he took out a pack of Marlboro Reds and offered Neil one. They weren’t Neil’s cigarettes of choice (he and Jean had created a habit of splitting packs of Yellow American Spirits, much to Jeremy’s dismay and constant warning about impending cancer), but he wasn’t one to turn down a free cigarette. Andrew lit his own cigarette before he tossed the lighter at Neil and started walking.

The lighter, curiously enough, was a heavy, plain silver zippo. Neil fumbled with it for a moment before he managed to coax a flame onto the end of the cigarette and pocketed the lighter. Andrew was halfway down the block by the time Neil had managed to take a successful drag, and it took a few moments of speed walking for Neil to catch up with him.

“You can tell me to fuck off, if you want.” Neil let the silence hang heavy between them for a moment. “I just invited myself into your evening without asking, so I get it if you hate me and you want me to leave.”

Andrew gave a non-committal hum in return and puffed out his cigarette smoke through his nose in a way that reminded Neil of a small bull.

“I mean. It seemed like that guy was annoying you, and, well, I don’t swing, and I remember what that felt like when my friends wouldn’t leave me alone about it, and I guess I thought it would help?” Neil felt entirely out of his skin. Being considerate wasn’t something he was entirely used to, he skirted around it with Alvarez and Jeremy most of the time. Jean understood him, and didn’t push, but Alvarez and Jeremy didn’t always know when they were being too much and Neil was still learning how explain the things he had never been allowed to speak aloud.

“You can leave right now if you’re doing this out of pity.” Andrew’s expression hadn’t changed at all, but there was a muted anger behind his words that Neil caught immediately (he wouldn’t have lasted through everything he had if he didn’t learn what anger felt like without words and actions behind it).

“No, it’s not like that,” he ran his free hand through his hair and pressed his palm flat against the shaved back.

“Enlighten me then, because that’s sure as fuck what it sounds like.”

Neil exhaled noisily and tried to gather his thoughts. Andrew was on the offensive and unlikely to back down from it anytime soon, so Neil switched tactics: if he made the situation about himself instead of Andrew, then he might be able to talk it down from the hostile point it had reached.

“So,” he looked over his right shoulder at Andrew, who was angrily taking a drag of his cigarette.

Andrew waited for him to speak.

“You’re going to think this is dumb. I’ve just met you today and I know you’re going to think this is dumb, but if you could give me a little…” Andrew slid an impassive look his way. “We could, possibly, pretend to date?”

The silence between them was almost deafening, and Neil trained his eyes on the sidewalk in front of him, giving Andrew the space to consider the proposal without being scrutinized. It was a ridiculous proposal, even Neil had to admit it, but fake dating someone was safe. Fake dating meant that no one got too close, but he still had a chance to unravel the enigmatic man walking next to him. It was the closest thing to good he was going to get.

“Okay.”

Neil blinked a few times and stopped short, staring at Andrew. “Excuse me?”

“I said okay, Josten. Is there something wrong with your ears?” Andrew sounded bored as usual, and Neil was left minorly speechless (not something he often experienced).

“Al-alright. Great. Good.” Neil babbled on for a moment, before pausing for breath. “Any particular reason why?”

Andrew finished his cigarette with one long drag, and dropped the burning filter to the ground under his heel. He deftly plucked the unfinished cigarette from Neil’s loose fingers and took a short drag. “No.”

“Eloquent, aren’t you?” There was a teasing edge to his voice, but Neil was still dancing around how to approach Andrew, and there was only so much he could push for after setting Andrew up with such a ridiculous proposal.

Andrew grunted in response, and Neil laughed off his reaction.

 

 

“You’re _dating_?” Jeremy looked to be on the edge of hyperventilation. “You _and Andrew Minyard are dating_?”

“Minyard. Huh.” Neil mused out loud. “Didn’t know his last name until now.”

Jeremy groaned and flopped onto Jean who was sprawled out across Neil’s couch.

“We played Exy against him in college,” Jean helpfully supplied. “He’s a nightmare in goal.”

Neil nodded along absentmindedly. Exy was always something he had been interested in, it was the reason he had become friends with Jeremy and Jean in the first place (they had bonded over Worlds and watching the US Court decimate the competition), but he was never allowed to actually play it much once his mother had decided that his art career was more important. It was something he watched from afar, and though he understood it on a bone deep level, it wasn’t as integrally a part of his life as it was for Jean or Jeremy.

His phone chirped from the counter softly, and Neil paused from making popcorn for their weekly movie night to reach over and unlock it for messages.

**i think nicky is having an aneurism over this**

over the dating thing?

**what else**

I don’t know, you seem pretty good at riling him up

**fuck off**

Neil laughed quietly to himself.

and leave you alone with nicky?

**…**

I can practically feel you glowering from over there

**does anyone actually use the word glowering**

I just did. so did you

It was a few more minutes before Andrew texted back.

**do you even own a coffee maker**

is this your way of asking me if I’m going to come to the bakery tomorrow

**do you own a coffee maker**

yeah but I make shit coffee

“Are you _texting_?” Jeremy sounded faint. “Babe, hold me, I think the world is coming to an end.” Jean laughed and shoved Jeremy’s legs off of him, letting him fall with a muted thump onto the floor in front of Jean.

“Since when are you so overdramatic?” Neil asked, shifting the popcorn around the pot before sticking the lid on. “You’re usually much less worked up about things than this.”

Jeremy shrugged. “I just want you to be happy, and it’s exciting for me. I can scale it back if it’s being too much.”

If Jeremy said he would, he would, and that comforted Neil more than anything. Jean had been more than a little fucked up when he had first met Jeremy (and had come a long way to the point where he was comfortable lazing on Neil’s couch as he ran his fingers through his boyfriend’s hair and teased him) and Jeremy understood that sometimes he was a little too much for his friends, and knew when to scale it back. They had both always been comfortable with respecting Neil’s boundaries and Neil knew if he asked them to back down they would.

“Maybe in front of Andrew at least. I think he’s getting enough flak from his friends as it is.” The popcorn had mostly finished and Neil took it off the heat to pour in bowls.

“Can do, now come over here and help me pick a movie.”

 

 

Sometimes Neil had nightmares.

He remembered burns and cuts and bruises. Pain that seeped into his bones and kept hold on him until he’s gasping for breath and the sheets are sticky with sweat. He remembered seeing his father for the first time, the last time, the time he burned him with an iron and the time he learned the hard way what the inside of a kiln feels like when it’s hot. He remembered the feel of a scraper against the skin of his palm, against his cheek. He remembered the feeling of a dashboard lighter crawling up his arm and across his cheek. He remembered.

But there’s only so much he could take before he gave up on sleeping and dragged himself out for a run.

His phone tells him it’s 3:36 as he slips it into his pocket and takes the stairs two at a time down from his apartment. There’s a desperate edge to his running as he looped through the park and up the street and back again. His lungs struggled through the wet air of the not quite morning and his legs felt like they were on fire.

He didn’t notice Andrew until he was about to barrel right into him.

“Jesus fucking Christ Josten, watch where the fuck you’re going.” Andrew’s voice was a little less bored than Neil had heard it, a true burst of annoyance hiding behind his words.

“Sorry, sorry I just–” Neil tried to catch his breath and leaned on his knees for support.

“What the fuck are you doing running at 4:50 in the morning.”

Neil winced. He hadn’t realized his run had gone on for so long or where he had ended up at, but he wasn’t surprised. If he had a sliver of self-preservation in his body he would go home and crawl back to bed instead of going to the studio today, but he didn’t feel like reliving his nightmares over and over alone.

He feigned nonchalance. “Nightmares.”

There was something about the way Andrew’s exhale left him in slow, measured beats that let Neil know that Andrew understood he didn’t use the word “nightmare” lightly.

“You might as well come in so you wont run into a car in your daze.” Andrew stepped past him to unlock the front door of The Foxhole. He didn’t bother to flick on the light switch but navigated his way easily to the counter in the dark. Neil slipped in quietly after him and tried to follow his path in hope of not bumping into anything in the haphazardly decorated café.

When the reached the counter, Andrew unlocked the small gate to the kitchen and pushed through the swinging kitchen door, finally turning on a light. The sudden brightness caused Neil to stumble and Andrew shot out a hand to grab his wrist and steady him. He pointed at a free stool pressed up against one of the large silver counters.

“You, sit.”

Neil complied, partially out of the bone deep tiredness that had settled after such a harsh run, and partially because he wanted to see exactly what Andrew did every morning that caused him to come in so early.

“What’re you going to make?” He asked, propping up his head on his left hand.

“Just bread,” Andrew responded as he filled a large tub with warm water and began measuring out dry ingredients. “Nicky’ll come in later and deal with the pastries; I don’t feel like handling them today.”

Neil nodded and watched him go through the motions. Andrew at work was methodical and quiet; he did things carefully and without much fuss, and Neil could tell that he genuinely enjoyed what he was doing. He made several kinds of bread while Neil watched him, slowly getting covered in more and more flower, turning his all-black outfit a peculiar shade of grey. Neil hadn’t even noticed he had nodded off until a loudly laughing Nicky burst into the kitchen and startled him awake.

“Neil! It’s so good to see you! Though I’m definitely surprised to see you!” The enthusiasm in Nicky’s voice almost made Neil wince, but the grogginess of being woken so violently kept him from doing much of anything.

“Wha time ’st?” He asked, rubbing his face with both hands.

“Uhm, around 6? I think?” Nicky responded as he went to put on an apron. “That’s usually when I come in to start on the pastries when Andrew doesn’t do them.”

“Fuck.” Maybe he should just go home, Neil thought, if he was so tired as to fall asleep around someone he had just met in a room full of things that could very easily kill him (he should text Alvarez later for the name of that sleep aid she used, but he wont).

“So,” Nicky had started to pick out ingredients and lined them up on the table that Andrew wasn’t using. “What’s your favourite kind of pastry, Neil?”

Neil blinked a few times, looking up as he was being addressed. “I don’t have one?”

His words made even Andrew pause for a moment as he kneaded through another batch of rolls. Nicky gasped and looked personally offended. “ _You don’t have one?_ Oh we are going to fix that right now, mister.” He paused for a second, collecting himself. “Or miss? Or whatever? Sorry, I didn’t mean to assume.”

Neil shrugged him off; gender wasn’t anything that had particularly bothered him ever. “Mister works just fine.”

The dazzling smile Neil had just woken up to was back and Nicky just gave him a thumbs-up before he started to throw things in a mixer. Neil stretched out and cracked his knuckles and neck before standing stretch his back; sleeping sitting up on a stool had not been kind to his body and the thought of his soft bed (the mattress was the one thing he had splurged on when he moved into his apartment) had him seriously considering going right back to it.

He walked up to the rack that Andrew was pushing trays of ready dough into.

“Thanks,” Neil murmured softly.

Andrew didn’t respond for a moment, then: “Go home, Josten. Get some actual sleep.”

Neil gave him a tired two-fingered salute and turned to leave but was caught by Nicky’s indignant squawk.

“Now that’s no way to say goodbye to your boyfriend, Andrew!” Nicky brandished a spatula in their direction. “Go on, just act like I’m not here.”

“Like that’s even possible,” Andrew muttered under his breath in German.

“I heard that!”

Neil grinned at the exchange, and despite the ache in his back and feet telling him to scoot right back to his bed, he turned back over to Andrew and leaned down to look at him with one eyebrow raised.

“May I?”

Andrew regarded him wearily, but responded with a quiet “yes”.

There were few things Neil loved more than stirring up trouble, and Andrew was about to find out how true that was. Neil leaned over and gave Andrew a soft peck on the cheek before quickly darting back and bouncing on the balls of his feet. He let out a short but loud laugh at the almost stunned reaction on Andrew’s face, and turned to watch Nicky’s almost explosive sputtering.

“I think that’s my cue to leave now. Bye Nicky, it was nice seeing you.” Neil gave Andrew one last grin. “Dinner later?”

On the surface, Andrew had schooled his expression back to the bored expression that Neil was growing accustomed to seeing. “Careful Josten, one might think you don’t actually have a life.”

Neil grinned. “I don’t. So, dinner later? Your pick.” He was so tired but teasing Andrew was proving to be worth it.

“Go home, Josten. I’ll think about it.”

Neil took his victories where he could and carefully sidestepped around both of the boys to leave out of the backdoor to the bakery. The sun hadn’t fully risen yet and the sky outside was just barely starting to lighten, and it took a few moments before Neil’s eyes adjusted to the streetlights as he jogged his way back home.

 

 

As Neil stepped out of the shower and toweled off, his phone chirped from beside his bed. He pulled on a new pair of boxers and an old painting shirt before he climbed under the soft covers on his bed and unlocked his phone to answer it.

**what are your feelings on dessert**

I don’t have any

**that’s fucked up, josten**

probably the least fucked up thing about me

**let’s not play that game**

Neil paused for a moment and started to try to decipher exactly what Andrew’s text meant when his phone chirped again.

**my shift ends at 7 again, I’ll pick you up after for dinner**

Something soft bloomed in Neil’s chest at that, and it took everything he had in him to squash it down and ignore that it even occurred as he texted Andrew his address.

**and for shit’s sake wear something without paint on it for once in your life**

Neil’s startled laugh echoed through the thin walls of his apartment.

 


	3. Chapter 3

There was a buzzing feeling under Neil’s skin that thrummed through his fingertips. He was sitting out on his front steps and fiddled with a lit cigarette he was letting burn out without much notice. He had slept like the dead and woke up late, barely having enough time to pull on something that would meet Andrew’s instructions, and settled on an all black outfit that showed off his tattoos. He had caught Andrew peaking at them yesterday and was curious enough to see his reaction to them displayed outright.

A loud honk made Neil jump and he dropped his cigarette with a curse. A sleek black car was idling along the curb and Andrew rolled the window down so Neil could see his face.

“Get in.”

Neil stood up and crushed the fallen cigarette under his heel as he pulled the door open and dropping down into the passenger seat.

“Nice car,” Neil commented, looking over at Andrew as he drove.

Andrew had the same bored expression that Neil had come to expect on his face over the past two days. It was almost comical (and a little unnerving), how quickly Neil had adjusted to Andrew’s moods and mannerisms.

“Where are we going?”

In lieu of responding, Andrew reached over and turned the radio up loud enough to drown out any sort of conversation they might have had. Neil rolled his eyes and leaned back to watch the world speed by outside his window. There was no way Andrew was driving at the speed limit to get wherever they were going, but Neil didn’t mind any; there were worse ways to die if this is how he ended up going.

Twenty minutes later, they were outside a bistro with the name “Eden’s Twilight” painted above the front door in glow in the dark paint. Neil raised an eyebrow.

“Classy.”

“Shut up.” Andrew pulled up to the curb and rolled down his window to receive a holographic parking pass from one of the valets at the door.

Neil stayed quiet as Andrew drove to the nearby parking garage and found a spot close to the door to leave the car, before his curiosity about the car got the best of him.

“What kind of car is this anyway?”

Andrew didn’t bother looking over to Neil as he was being addressed, and instead chose to focus on affixing the parking pass to his rear-view mirror. “A Maserati.”

“Oh.” Neil knew next to nothing about cars, but he had a feeling that his roommate, Matt, would have loved the chance to ride it (despite the fact that Matt could probably afford to get one for himself, but that wasn’t the point).

Once the were parked, Andrew slipped out of the car without waiting for Neil to follow him and locked it as Neil scrambled to catch up with him; for someone so small, Andrew could move quickly if he wanted to. The walk to the bistro was short and quiet, and Andrew held the door open for Neil when the reached it, earning Neil a few curious glances from the valets out front. Neil wasn’t entirely sure whether he was supposed to sit at one of the empty tables lining the cramped room, or find a host, or really what Andrew had dragged him there for in the first place, so he hovered nervously in the doorway as Andrew stepped in behind him. Noticing Neil’s hesitation in the doorway, Andrew rolled his eyes and circled his fingers around Neil’s wrist to tug him forward and towards the back to a slightly propped door that Neil hadn’t noticed on his first inspection of the room.

The door led to a small garden area set up with a few tables and full of people enjoying their dinners. Andrew continued to tug Neil over to a table set for two against the back wall of creeping ivy, before pulling out a chair for himself and sitting down (Neil had half expected him to pull his chair out too, but dismissed the thought as soon as he had it).

“Menus?” Neil asked, taking a sip of his water.

“Don’t worry about it.” Andrew leaned back in his chair, surveying the room.

“You ordered for me?”

Andrew’s gaze slid impassively to Neil and he raised an eyebrow in a silent challenge. “Do you have a problem with that, Josten?”

Neil shrugged and looked away, his right eye almost closed in a squint, an almost amused grin on his lips. “No, but I don’t think you’re going to be able to order for me too well. I told you, I don’t like sweets.”

“Anything else on that list?”

“Nothing you need to know about.” Neil shot back, tensing up for a moment. He had to remind himself to breathe, this was just Andrew; he was harmless. (Well maybe not harmless, but in comparison to what Neil had to deal with growing up, this was harmless).

Andrew cocked his head to the side and considered Neil for a few minutes. Neil squirmed under his gaze initially, but forced himself to sit up straight and look Andrew in the eye with a completely neutral face; there was a reason he always won poker nights. In the meanwhile their appetizers were delivered: small cups of soup that settled a comfortable warmth in Neil’s stomach.

“How about we play a game.” Andrew didn’t pose it as a question, and he didn’t mean to. It was a challenge Neil could decline or accept, and Andrew was banking on Neil’s curiosity to get him to agree.

“What kind of game?”

“A game of truth. One of yours for one of mine.” Andrew paused and rolled his shoulders, getting more comfortably situated in his seat. “It’s only fair.”

Anxiety twisted in Neil’s gut. This relationship was fake, a gimmick to get both of their friends off their back and an opportunity to not have to constantly fend questions about his sexuality; he owed Andrew nothing. And yet, he was interested in this quiet boy with the terrible sleeping schedule who made the best coffee Neil had ever had, what was the worst that could happen (he was going to regret this very, very soon).

“Okay. Who goes first?”

Andrew smiled like a shark who had just tasted blood in the water. “Me, obviously.”

Neil ran his palms against the fabric of his jeans and tried to look relaxed as Andrew formed his question.

“What’s under the sleeves? You tug at them whenever you get nervous.”

It was not the question Neil was expecting, not in the least bit, and it took him a minute for his brain to catch up with his mouth. “I do?’

“You do.”

“Huh.” Neil debated with himself for a moment before he shrugged and rolled his sleeves up, presenting his forearms to Andrew across the table.

Neil’s arms were scarred and burned, mutilated with perfectly circular burns crawling up the back of his hands to his elbows, and surrounded by careful pale scars that stitched themselves in the empty spaces between his burns. But over all of that was a series of intricate black geometric tattoos that drew attention away from the angry scarring. Patterns crawled up and around Neil’s arms and crept onto the backs of his hands where the color faded to a softer grey, escaping Andrew’s notice earlier. Triangles and squares, solid and dashed lines, wove themselves into beautiful chaos along Neil’s skin and Andrew felt the overwhelming urge to touch them.

He almost reached for them, but the waiter chose that moment to show up with their entrées. Andrew quietly cursed his choice of venue for the conversation before turning to watch Neil take a bite of the medium rare steak in front of him.

Neil chewed for a moment before a small smile curved on his face. “It’s good, but I take my steaks rare.”

Andrew rolled his eyes. “Whatever, Josten.”

They ate in silence for a few minutes, before Neil asked, “My turn?”

“That is how the game works, yes.” Andrew continued to methodically cut his steak up into smaller and smaller squares before biting into them one by one.

“Why don’t you sleep at night?”

It was clear Andrew hadn’t expected this question either, but Neil could see the sleeplessness clear on his face. Purple bags circled Andrew’s hazel eyes, and a perpetual expression of fatigue drove down his features.

“Nightmares.”

Neil nodded and didn’t press, and Andrew was secretly grateful. He pushed his empty plate away from him and waited for Neil to be finished.

“Why do you literally have paint on every article of clothing you own?”

“Hey that’s not true! I don’t have any paint on me right now!” Neil sputtered.

Andrew waved his hand in dismissal. “That’s not an answer, Josten.”

“You know, I have a name. It’s Neil. You could maybe consider using it.” Neil pouted for a moment. “I’m an artist. I primarily work in acrylics, it get’s a little messy sometimes.”

The waiter came to clear their plates away and Neil opened his mouth to ask Andrew his next question before he was cut off by a booming voice.

“Andrew! Where’ve you been? I was starting to think you had gotten sick of me!” A much taller man with deeply tanned skin and his long hair pulled back in a low ponytail walked up to their table. He was dressed in all black, an apron tied to his waist, and Neil could only hazard a guess that he must have been the bartender, since he hadn’t seen him at any of the tables in the garden.

“Roland, I’m always sick of you.” Andrew responded without getting up.

“I’m hurt, Andrew, I really am.” Roland turned his attention to Neil. “Wow, Andrew, you’re branching out. Making friends. I’m impressed.”

Neil gave Roland a small smile. “Hi, I’m Neil.”

“Hello Neil.” Roland stuck his hand out for a firm shake. “I’m Roland, as you might have guessed. I’m the bartender for this fine establishment. Can I get you boys anything to drink?”

Neil shook his head, just as he had when the waiter had posed the question to him earlier. “I don’t drink.”

Roland shrugged, unbothered. “That’s alright. How about you Andrew? Your usual?”

Andrew watched Neil with a scrutinizing gaze. “No, not tonight.”

“You sure?”

“Yes.”

“Alright, whatever floats your boat man.” Roland turned back to Neil. “Nice meeting you kid, take good care of Andrew, alright?” Neil smiled at him.

“Can do.”

As soon as Roland was out of earshot, Neil sat up in his chair and smirked at Andrew. “Who was that?”

“Roland” was Andrew’s non-answer.

“Andrew,” Neil said in a warning tone.

“That was Roland, that’s just an objective statement of a fact.”

“Yes, but who is he to you?”

“Nu uh,” Andrew wagged a finger in Neil’s direction. “That’s a second question. Wait your turn, Josten.”

Neil threw up his shoulders in slight exasperation and flopped back against the back of his chair.

Their waiter interrupted their game with the arrival of their desserts. A towering sundae was placed in front of Andrew, a sugary monstrosity draped in chocolate sauce and hot caramel. Neil could feel a cavity forming in his own mouth from the sight of it. Fortunately for him, instead of another sundae, the waiter had brought a small red tart, topped with three small raspberries. and a curl of white chocolate.

“Bon appetite, messieurs.”

Andrew watched Neil regard the tart in front of him, and cautiously take a bite. A small blip of pleasure flitted across his face as his mouth closed around the fork and Andrew had to drag his eyes away from where Neil’s lips were pressed against the metal of the fork and tried to ignore the small noise of satisfaction that had escaped his throat from the taste of the tart.

“So you do like dessert.” Andrew only sounded a little smug, and Neil ignored him in favor of finishing off his tart in a few bites.

“Hey Neil?” Neil looked up. “Who did you watch die?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm literally so sorry, May got away from me, but today I sat down and wrote this instead of really doing much work so here we are.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ayyyy thank Carol for this and being a gr9 beta

It was as if everything narrowed down to that one moment, and Neil couldn’t breathe. There wasn’t enough air, there wasn’t a place to run to, and he felt trapped. Though he stared at Andrew with eyes wide, like a rabbit cornered by a bloodhound, he was far, far away in his own head.

Neil remembered the smell of oil paints and mold, the feeling of being pressed into a small sink cabinet with the curve of the water pipe digging into his back, and the awkward angle of it all on his neck as he peered through the crack in the cabinet waiting for it to be safe enough to come out.

He remembered her screaming and pleading. He remembered the sound of a body being torn to pieces and heavy breathing that he hoped would end; he prayed and prayed and prayed to a god he didn’t even believe in, and when he realized that no one was coming to save him he stopped praying and let the silent tears roll and drip to his feet. He remembered the sound of the apartment being wrecked and yelling, more yelling. He remembered the smell of blood (he would never forget it). He remembered not sleeping and holding the doors of the cabinet shut so tight his hands ached until he couldn’t feel them anymore.

He remembered walking out and seeing her there. He remembered throwing up stomach acid on the living room floor.

The rest was a blur.

“Neil. _Neil_.” Andrew snapped his fingers in Neil’s direct line of sight before sighing and getting up to grab the back of his neck.

The sudden contact was far too unexpected in Neil’s state, and involuntarily his fist flung out to connect with Andrew’s face. Andrew dropped his hand immediately and jumped out of the way.

“Neil breathe. You’re here, it’s fine. Neil. _Abram_.” Andrew debated crouching closer to Neil, but ultimately decided to give him space and go pay the check. He came back a few minutes later to find Neil the same way he had left him: stock still and staring off towards the space Andrew had been occupying ten minutes ago.

So Andrew upended his glass of water on Neil.

It had the desired effect. Neil leapt up, shook out of whatever trance he had been in and whipped around to snarl a

“What the actual fuck?” at Andrew.

“We’re leaving.” Andrew turned away without much more explanation, walked towards the door and out of the garden without checking to see if Neil was following him.

Neil waited a second to take stock of himself before getting up and quickly following Andrew out of Eden’s Twilight altogether. They walked to the car without a word said between them. When they pulled away from the curb he expected Andrew to press him for answers, but the other boy said nothing as they sped back towards Neil’s apartment.

Neil’s first instinct was to run, run as far away and as quickly as he could, end this thing with Andrew right there and then (whatever it was, whatever it had become). In two days this boy had wormed himself under Neil’s skin with unnerving ease. He was wrecking every little thing his mother had ever taught him, and her voice screamed at him from the back of his head, berated him for ruining everything she had ever given him, everything she had ever done for him.

Neil shouldn’t be giving pieces of himself away like this - and yet here he was, cutting out a part of him and handing it to Andrew on a plate for inspection. There was something about Andrew that told Neil he understood, he knew there were dark parts about Neil that couldn’t surface to the light, parts of him that weren’t meant for the world to see, but why he was so insistent to pull them apart was beyond Neil. He couldn’t fathom why this boy, who seemed so uninterested in him one moment and then obsessively curious the next, would want to know him. Somehow he was sure that once Andrew found his secrets, he wouldn’t run away from them.

“Andrew,” Neil croaked, his voice rough from trying not to scream in the bistro, just as he had tried not to scream under the cabinets watching his mother get cut apart piece by piece.

Andrew flicked his eyes over to Neil in silent acknowledgement.

“Can we go to my studio?”

Andrew gave him a look as if to say ‘I have no idea where your studio is but I’m not going to own up to that so you better volunteer some information’.

Neil sighed. “Just go a few blocks past the baker and turn left. I’ll tell you when.”

Andrew kept driving without any sign of acknowledgement, but got off at an exit earlier than he would have for Neil’s apartment. When they reached the bakery Neil murmured, “Three blocks straight then turn left, then keep going for two blocks. You can’t miss it.”

Andrew did as directed and soon they were pulling up to an industrial building. It was four stories high with giant glass paneling, the type that reflected sunshine and that tilted on a diagonal when pressed open.

They parked out front and Neil reached for the door handle before hesitating.

“Will you come upstairs with me? I want to show you something.”

Andrew raised an eyebrow at Neil but followed him out of the car without complaint, locking the doors behind them and trailing up the four flights of stairs to Neil’s studio.

They stopped before the door, a large, intimidating thing made of steel and surrounded with bolts keeping it in place. Neil took a breath to steady himself and stared determinedly at the door.

“My mother. That’s who I watched die.”

Neil didn’t watch for Andrew’s reaction, concentrated on listening to the sound of the lock sliding in place so he wouldn’t listen instead for a drawn breath or the instant quiet that comes from being on the receiving end of such a confession. He unlocked the door and stepped inside, leaving it open enough for Andrew to follow in behind him should he choose to do so. Neil sat down on his stool in the center of the studio, watched as Andrew closed the door behind him and walked around inspecting the work cluttering the room. He hadn’t spoken a word since they had left the restaurant.

“I’m going to take my turn now.” Neil waited to see if Andrew would comment, and when he didn’t Neil pressed on.

“Why did you want to know?”

Andrew took his time with the question, rolling the answer around in his mouth, testing the words against his teeth and deciding on the proper way to form his response. Not once did he look at Neil. With anyone else it would have driven Neil crazy and itched up his body with frustration - with Andrew, Neil knew that patience was everything. Eventually, Andrew stopped scrutinizing every single piece of art he encountered in the room and carefully moved a pot off of an extra stool in the corner of the room before dragging it over to Neil and taking a seat in front of him.

“You talk in your sleep.” He finally responded, shrugging. “You said something about ‘stopping him’ and ‘blood’. I took a guess and turns out I was right.”

Andrew held Neil’s gaze, deliberately and terrifyingly. His look wasn’t predatory or even menacing, but the pure and bone-deep understanding that Neil found in him rocked him down to the core. If Neil wanted to leave, he had lost his chance. Even so, there was a small part of him that wanted to stay, wanted to see what he would need to reveal before Andrew would realize how fucked up he was and left. Before it all crumbled to pieces (a small voice in the back of his head kept telling him it was fake, fake, fake and there was no reason for Andrew to stay in the first place; he was just humoring Neil).

“Why don’t you use watercolors?”

Andrew cocked his head a bit to the right as he asked his question, and Neil let a little hysterical laugh bubble from his lips at that.

“I used to only work in watercolors.” He paused, looking down at his hands.

“When I finally came out of the cabinet to find her body, all I could see was blood everywhere. On every little thing I had ever painted. And he-” his voice choked off, and he took a steadying breath. “He had taken her blood and mixed it with water to draw me something. To leave me a warning. He had drained what was left of her to leave me a reminder that he would come for me and I-”

“A man can only have so many problems Josten.”

Neil couldn’t help but laugh at that; he hoped it didn’t sound desperate. Andrew’s flippant response helped some of the anxiety unfurl in his chest; the fact that Andrew hadn't so much as flinched at Neil's recount made him stop waiting for Andrew to leap from his chair and run from the room (though if their trip up the stairs was any indication, Andrew wasn't the running type).

“I suppose you’re right.” A small smile crept on his face. “Will you sit for me?”

“What.”

The smile grew bigger. “Like to paint. Will you let me draw you?”

Andrew raised an eyebrow and gave Neil a look that roughly translated to ‘you’re kidding me right’ without much expression at all.

“You really would only have to sit there for a little while. It’s not much work.” Neil twisted his hands in his lap and looked like he wanted to say more but stopped himself before he did.

“Okay.”

“You don’t sound too pleased, you don’t really have to if you don’t want-”

“I said yes, Josten, just shut up.”

Neil nodded, “okay.” He moved his easel to face Andrew and placed the canvas full of poppies to lean against the wall. Neil picked up a small silver box and a medium sized sketchbook and brought them with him to prop up on the easel. He opened his mouth and looked at Andrew before closing it again; his lips twisted into a slight frown.

“Spit it out, Josten.”

“Can you take your shirt off?”

Andrews eyebrows shot up.

“No.”

“Okay.”

Andrew took a breath and his eyebrows slowly climbed back down. He watched Neil set up his charcoals and find an empty page to work on with tracking eyes. He waited for Neil to raise his pencil against the paper before speaking.

“Why?”

Neil shrugged. “I’ll get better lines with it off. I want to draw your shoulders.”

The air stilled between them and Andrew looked at Neil with an impassive face. He seemed to be debating something with himself, though his face betrayed nothing. After a moment, Andrew reached behind him and pulled his shirt off over his head. Neil frowned.

“Andrew, you don’t-”

“Shut the fuck up, Josten.” He snarled. Neil’s mouth immediately snapped shut, and he pressed his lips together to keep the small smile from forming on his face.

“These stay on,” Andrew stated, indicating the black bands that wrapped themselves around his forearms. Neil nodded and set to work, sketching Andrew’s basic outline on the paper, eyes flitting back and forth between Andrew and the sketchbook.

“Who killed her?” Andrew’s voice was quiet, and only took Neil a little out of his focus.

“My father.” He replied without much thought - he was too preoccupied with getting the curve of Andrew’s neck just right. “He had been hunting us for a while before he tracked us down in San Francisco. He always did like knives.”

Andrew didn’t comment.

“What’s your favourite dessert?” Neil bit onto the end of his pencil and reached for one of his charcoals to draw the harsh line of Andrew’s jaw. Neil swore he saw the corner of Andrew’s mouth lift a touch before it was gone in a blink.

“Yakgwa.” He responded without missing a beat.

“Pardon?” Neil stopped drawing.

“Yakgwa.” Andrew paused for a moment, considering. “Aaron made it for me the first time we met; it’s sweet and fried. Not your type of food.”

Andrew’s bored expression didn’t put Neil off, he simply nodded and went back to sketching out Andrew’s nose.

“What languages do you speak other than German?” Andrew managed to stay miraculously still and Neil noted that Andrew’s shoulders had relaxed from their tightly wound position when Andrew had first shed his shirt.

Neil did smile this time. “French, passable Spanish, and Russian. You?”

Andrew pressed his mouth into a line before responding. “Korean and Russian.”

“Small world.” They lapsed back into silence as Neil continued to draw him.

After about half an hour, Andrew spoke.

“What happened to your father?”

Neil looked up and caught Andrew’s eyes staring straight into his. The calm atmosphere that they had found in the last hour had immediately twisted up into something painful and flight-inducing. Neil thought through his options before responding; he could tell Andrew the truth, but he wasn’t ready to give him that much of himself yet. Maybe one day, but not just yet.

“He died.” It wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t the entire truth either.

He held Andrews gaze and watched the understanding creep in behind his eyes before Andrew gave the smallest of nods. He looked away.

“Where’d you learn Korean?” It wasn’t that he was trying to change the subject, per se, and he was interested in Andrew’s history, but he was done talking about his family for the night.

“One of my first foster families thought I should connect to my roots or some shit. They were just probably testing out to see if they could actually teach it to the kid that they had on the way.” His tone had turned a touch bitter, enough for Neil to notice, but only because he was paying attention. Neil nodded and turned back to the drawing. They lapsed into silence again, and it was a while before Neil noticed Andrew’s hands twitching and realized how long Andrew had gone without a smoke.

“If you want to prop one of the windows open you can smoke over by the ledge.” Neil said, putting his charcoal down and wiping his hands against his black jeans to get some of the black dust off.

Andrew nodded and got up, rolling his neck and pulling his lighter and a pack of Marlboro Reds from his pocket. He passed Neil one on his way to the window and took a seat on the protruding ledge before pressing the pane of glass so that it slid diagonally, half in the room and half outside. He lit his own cigarette before Neil’s, and watched as Neil mostly let the cigarette burn between his blackened hands, his eyes trailing up with the smoke before catching Andrew’s.

Andrew spoke suddenly. “I don’t like to be touched.” Neil gave him a small nod.

As soon as he finished his own cigarette, Andrew reached over and deftly plucked Neil’s from his hands, sliding it between his lips and taking a drag. He waited for a response, some sort of protest, but Neil just gave him an amused glance before turning to look out the window into the glowing orange lamplight around them. Andrew’s watched him until the cigarette was finished, grinding out the butt in the space between them before taking a deep breath.

“Yes or no?” Neil looked back towards Andrew. He thought of his request in the morning, the quiet ‘May I?’ he had whispered so close to Andrew’s cheek and the moment of trust Andrew had afforded him.

“Yes.”

Andrew surged forward and kissed him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I HC Andrew and Aaron as half-Korean, and both of them speak Korean. I've got a whole background worked out for it, so if u wanna talk more come bug me on tumblr.  
> Yakgwa is (according to Google) a sweet dessert that children mostly like (I tried to find the most cavity inducing dessert possible) and [it's super cute](https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Yakgwa)!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I basically listened to [No Care by Daughter](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4AZjJEYozKc) on repeat while writing this, if this helps u get the feel

Neil had woken with a start, gulping down air and pushing himself out of bed. He found his running shoes in the dark and pulled on a thin pair of shorts over his boxers; he grabbed his keys and was out the door in the next minute. 

He ran and ran, deliberately detouring off his normal route and staying away from the bakery. He ran until he hit the waterfront, and then ran along the length of the beach until he had reached the end of the pier. He didn’t stop to think, just shucked his shirt off over his shoulders, toed off his shoes and socks, dropped his keys inside of them, and dove in. The waters of the Atlantic were frigid in the early morning sun, the first rays of light playing soft colors over the surface of the water. Neil surfaced and treaded water, watching the sunrise until the light hurt his eyes and he dove back underwater, pushing his lungs as far as he could go before he felt lightheaded enough that he had to burst up for air. He swam laps until his arms ached and he swam back to the pier. 

He didn’t bother putting his shirt back on at first, despite the morning chill, using it to dry off a bit. He pulled his socks and shoes back on and sat down on the pier, hugging his knees to his scarred chest, absentmindedly tracing a long, thick scar that ran down the length of his torso, bumpy and hard against his ribs. When the sun had fully risen (when he was sure he wouldn’t run into Andrew going into the bakery), he pulled his shirt back on and ran back home. 

Neil went through his usual morning routine: shower, get dressed, grab his sketchbook, walk to the studio, pick up shitty ass coffee from the coffee cart outside on the way. 

He held his breath in front of the door to his studio, hand pausing on the handle for just a moment before he slid his key in the lock and opened the door. He exhaled slowly, counting the seconds and taking stock of the room. Everything felt like it had a little bit of Andrew touched on it. The stool propped near his easel, the box of charcoals on the floor near his feet; his window was locked, the sill still bare save for the small pile of ashes that had smeared across the surface under their bodies. He walked over and traced the side of the wall that he had been pressed up against, his hands shoved in his pockets, Andrews lips against his, and Andrews fingers curled in Neil’s hair. 

And then Andrew had left. 

No words, no explanation; he had suddenly jumped back as if Neil’s touch burned him and fled from the room. Neil had sat there, hands gripping the rough fabric of his jeans before getting up and walking back over to his easel to finish the sketch and put it away. He had left it in the corner of the room, covered with a drop cloth and behind all of his old work that he had yet to sell. 

He set himself back up at the easel, a new canvas propped up on it, pulling out his acrylics and painting thick layer after layer of flowers. The kind that trailed around his shoulders and down his back, blooming across his shoulders and vines that wrapped themselves around his biceps. Inked petals peeking out from short sleeves and crew necks on the few occasions he felt like showing that much skin off to strangers. He painted until flowers crowded his entire field of vision and he could feel his hand ache from trying so carefully not to crush the petals he had coaxed up from the edge of the canvas. He leaned back and smiled for the first time that day, looking at the bit of skin he had stretched across the canvas in front of him. 

The knock at the studio door made him jump. 

“Who is it?” He called out, rotating his canvas away from the doorway. 

“C’est moi.” Jean’s low, almost growl of a voice carried through and Neil sighed. 

“Je vais déverrouiller la porte.” Neil crossed the room quickly and unlocked the door, leaning on the frame to keep his project out of Jean’s direct line of sight. 

“Que veux-tu?” 

“Déjeuner.” Jean raised an eyebrow and gestured to the air beside him. “Tu veux aller?” 

“Non,” Neil slid his hands into his pockets. “Mais apporte moi quelque chose.” 

Jean shrugged. “D’accord.” 

Neil liked conversations with Jean; they were usually short, quick, and to the point. No extra probing, no talking about anything Neil didn’t want to discuss. Jeremy was entirely the opposite, asking Neil questions, gently probing until he hit a wall and backing down quickly, but still, keeping up a gentle hum (sometimes literally) of background noise to keep Neil from drowning in his own thoughts. 

He went back to his flowers, adding tiny touches of detail to them with the thinnest brush he owned and white paint. When his phone went off a few minutes later, he figured it was Jean asking what he wanted for lunch. He walked over to where he left his bag and pulled his phone out, and nearly dropped it when he saw who the text was from.

Neil unlocked the phone with stead but clammy fingers, and tapped through to Andrew’s message, willing himself to calm down. 

**what do you want to eat**

Leaving the text unanswered, Neil tapped over to his music and turned his volume all the way up as he started his music to keep from hearing the ringer on his phone, but turned it on silent for good measure. 

Neil went to the metal cabinet in the corner of the room where he kept most of his supplies. He restocked it every other week or so, usually new frames and canvases, acrylics he needed for certain projects and some he kept on hand because he used them so often, but in the far back of the top shelf sat a box that he hadn’t opened since the day he moved into this studio. Neil dragged a crate that he was using to hold some ceramics projects over and balanced himself on the sides of the crate, peering into the depth of the cabinet to find a narrow pine box. He reached into the cabinet and pulled it back out, using the doors to steady himself as he stepped off of the crate, and stood there, marveling at the thing in his hands for a few minutes. 

There was a war Neil was waging with himself, whether to open the box, or put it right back where he found it. 

“Neil?” 

It took every ounce of self control that Neil had not to drop the box and instead place it on the ground. 

“Josten, I know you’re in there, the French one ratted you out.” 

Neil was perfectly prepared not to move or breathe or otherwise make any sound that could possibly give away that he was in fact, in the studio. 

“For shit’s sake Neil, just open the fucking door.” 

He pulled his long sleeves down over his hands and wrung the fabric between his fingers; he didn’t owe Andrew anything, they weren’t anything, he was nothing to Andrew. 

“Fine, Josten. Do whatever the fuck you like.” 

Neil waited until he was absolutely sure Andrew had left before he walked over to the door and opened it. On the ground there was a small paper bag, wrinkled from where Andrew had clutched it. He grabbed it and darted back inside, locking the door behind him and sliding down the length of door and sitting leaning against it. 

Inside there was a small box of what looked like flower shaped, fried cakes. A wrapped sandwich was underneath, but Neil was more curious about what the cakes were. He opened the box and took one out, taking a cautious bite. The cake was sweet on his tongue, but not like anything he had ever tasted. On the inside of the lid, Neil recognized Andrew’s scrawl.

_ I don’t know if you’ll like it  _

That was it, nothing more nothing less. Neil hazarded a guess that what he was eating was the dessert Andrew had told him about last night. He didn’t really know himself how he felt about the taste, but it meant something that Andrew had sent this to him instead of something he had seen the bakery stock normally. He put the rest of the box away and finished the sandwich before going back over to the pine box on the floor. He sat there until the light outside faded from his windows and he stopped having feeling in his legs and lower back. 

Neil stretched out on the floor, lying down on his side just an arm’s length away from the box. 

“A man can only have so many problems, Josten” kept repeating itself through Neil’s head, over and over again. So he reached out and undid the latch. The lid tipped back with a muted thunk, and Neil propped himself up on his arm, just enough so he could see inside. 

A handful of his old watercolors were inside, drawings of his mother and her purple skirt that he couldn’t leave when he ran away from California. Below that was a pallet still in it’s original wrapping and a set of paintbrushes, a thick stock of watercolor paper, and a small tube of gouache. Neil took out the brushes and paint, and set them out beside him. He got up and walked to the sink to pour himself a cup of water in a chipped mason jar, and came back to start working. He worked until his back ached and he was pretty sure that if Alvarez found him right then she would have kicked him out of the studio for a week. 

Neil put the painting against the sill to dry, dumped out the water, and washed his brushes. He set all of his supplies carefully back into the box before shutting it and putting it back into the cabinet.

He grabbed his coat and bag and flicked the lights off behind him as he walked out of the studio. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as always, thank u carol for being a gr9 beta
> 
> The french:  
> Neil: Who is it?  
> Jean: Me  
> N: I'll come unlock the door. What do you want?  
> J: Lunch. You wanna come?  
> N: No. But bring me back something.  
> J: Alright 
> 
> (in celebration of moving and finals ending


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I listened to so much Daughter while this was happening, but specifically [Run](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=psiILfa-G1c)
> 
> cw: mentions of past trauma

For the next two weeks, Neil avoided The Foxhole and all of its employees. He went so far as to not even go to the Vietnamese place he liked that was down the block from it. He didn’t feel like running into Andrew, or explaining to anyone what had actually happened, so he figured it was best if he left it alone. Jeremy and Jean had stopped asking him to come with them for lunch after the first few days and instead dropped food off by his door on the way back. He tried to leave money for them after they started, but they always left the bills there without bothering to pick them up. Eventually though, he had to face the world and that came in the form of Matt Boyd.

Matt was Neil’s roommate, a professional Exy player who played for the local pro-team, alongside Kevin Day. Neil had met Kevin once or twice, and he knew that Kevin had some history with Jean, but he had never particularly warmed to him, and thus tried to stay as far away as he could on most occasions where they had to interact. Matt, on the other hand, was the closest thing to a brother that Neil had. With a solid 13 inches on Neil, Matt was the pinnacle of an Exy player: tall, muscular, with black hair he insisted on twisting up at all times unless a helmet was going over it, and the biggest, most genuine smile Neil had ever seen. Matt had listed for a roommate in the want ads of one of the newspapers that had a pick-up box outside of Neil’s building, and Neil had stumbled across it one day after moving to the city after sleeping in his studio for a week on an air mattress. Matt didn’t ask too many questions and the rent was cheap, so Neil moved in the next day. Once Matt realized that Neil had practically nothing to his name other than painting supplies, he dragged Neil out to Ikea to pick up a bed and some furniture for Neil. He had ignored Neil’s protests, and eventually Neil gave in, pointing out colors and finishes he liked and resigning himself to Matt purchasing him a whole new bedroom set plus the most comfortable mattress he had ever slept on (the noise he made when he laid down on it in the store had been so obscene, Matt had blushed and handed the salesperson his credit card right there and then). They had grown closer in the last two years living together, and Neil had opened up to Matt bit by bit until he was sure there wasn’t anyone who knew more about him and his habits better (he hadn’t told Matt everything, but he had told him enough). When Neil got home that night he walked into the smell of vegetables frying and salsa music playing, a telltale sign that Matt was home.

“I thought you and Dan had given up on the salsa lessons!” Neil called out as he walked in, locking the door behind him and dropping his coat and bag by the coat rack near the door.

“I’m still trying! She was giving me shit the other day,” Matt paused to mimic his girlfriend’s voice. “‘What kind of self respecting black boy can’t dance for shit?’” His booming laugh filled the apartment.

“Well I mean she’s not wrong.” Neil walked into the kitchen and leaned against the doorway.

“I’m making tapas,” Matt said, turning around. “Want any?”

Neil nodded and hopped onto the only free counter space left.

“So, tell me what I’ve missed, Dan said you’ve caused a ruckus.” Matt turned back around to pay attention to the vegetables.

Neil scrunched his nose up. “No one actually says ruckus, Matt.”

“Well I just did, now fess up.”

By the time Neil was finished Matt was torn between laughing about the absurdity of the whole thing, and hugging Neil.

“Do you want a hug?” Matt asked, putting the tapas in the oven.

Neil shook his head. “No. Thanks for asking though.”

Matt gave Neil one of his huge 100 watt smiles. “No problem. Want to go play Mario Kart until the food is ready?”

“You want to get your ass kicked before dinner?”

“Shut up, Josten. Loser has to do the dishes?”

“You’re on.”

The rest of the night was relaxing, familiar. It was nice to have Matt back home, making noises and calling out little stories from the roadie he had just gotten back from. It made their apartment feel a little less empty, a little more like home.

Home. What a novel idea.

  


Neil went back to the pier the next morning, well before the sunrise, and sat with his feet dangling over the water. The weather was turning warmer, getting closer to spring rather than winter, but he still ended up freezing whenever he decided to go swimming in the middle of his runs. Today felt just as nerve wracking as the morning had the day he decided to start using his watercolors again. He hadn’t painted in any medium since; making up for lost time, he suppose, trying to regain what he had lost.

As he peeled his shirt off and leapt into the water, he remembered learning how to swim for the first time, his mother gently coaxing him in the cold waters of the Atlantic, driving out far away from their house to make sure they wouldn’t be disturbed by any of his father’s goons. He was four years old, and his mother still spoke to him in the language she had been born speaking but never taught Neil. _Beeyah, beeyah. Afarin, Afarin._ Her words sounded sweet and soft, long drawn out vowels and a soft smile on her face, her huge brown eyes lit up with delight as Neil doggy paddled over to her.

He swam parallel to the pier until his arms ached and his heart felt too full with memories of his mother. Neil dragged himself up over the pier’s edge and used his shirt as a towel again before pulling it back on and managing to get his socks and shoes onto his mostly-dry feet. He finally caved, after almost three weeks, and ran past the bakery on his way home. He peaked through the window as he sped by, nearly causing Nicky to drop the tray of drinks he was holding when he sent him a little two fingered salute.

When Neil finally reached his apartment he realized he had been out on the pier for much longer than he had originally thought, and figured he might as well stop by The Foxhole for some coffee and rejoin society; Matt would be so proud.

He ran a scalding hot shower and let the cold seep from his bones, letting the tension roll out of his shoulders, and got out with the closest thing he had to a good mood since the morning he slept in The Foxhole’s kitchen.

“Hey Matt, I’m going to get coffee from this one place downtown on my way to the studio. Wanna come?” Neil asked, poking his head into Matt’s room.

Matt scrubbed a hand over his face. “Yeah sure, just give me a couple of minutes to get ready.”

“Solid.” Neil gave him a small smile and walked back into his room.

  


They walked to the bakery together, Matt asking Neil about the projects he had been working on while Matt was away, asking if he could come by the studio after breakfast.

“Yeah,” Neil paused, watching the sidewalk as he spoke. “I started using watercolors again.”

Matt nearly stopped in his tracks, but managed to keep moving at Neil’s pace. “That’s….That’s good. That’s really great Neil.” Neil looked up to see Matt giving him a soft smile, a blooming look of pride on his face. Neil shrugged.

“Thanks. It finally felt like time.”

Matt squeezed his arm affectionately before stopping right in front of The Foxhole’s door. “Oh hey this is where Dan works!”

“Really?” Neil frowned. “I haven’t seen her around.”

Matt rolled his eyes. “That’s because you’ve been avoiding the place, dumbass.”

“Oh. Right.”

They walked inside, Matt picking up the conversation from where they had left off this morning before they left the apartment, arguing about which Assassin’s Creed game was better.

“The games literally have no plot line after Brotherhood.” Neil shrugged at Matt’s obvious frustration.

“Yeah, but pirates, Matt, pirates.”

When they reached the counter, Neil was surprised to see Renee standing behind the register. “Oh, hey Renee.”

She smiled at him. “Hi Neil, hi Matt.” Matt gave her a little wave. “Neil I didn’t know you knew Matt?”

“We’re roommates.”

“I’m his best friend,” Matt boasted happily. Neil snorted and gave Renee a shrug that said ‘what can you do?’

“What can I get you two?” Renee tucked her hair behind her ear and Matt ordered for the both of them, rattling off a few things from memory that he liked and a few others he thought Neil would enjoy.

“Oh, and Neil?” Neil looked up at her. “Andrew’s around back, if you’re looking for him.”

Neil blinked. Talking to Andrew hadn’t been the original plan, but now that he was here, he figured he might as well.

He slipped out the side door as Matt went to find the two of them a table and walked toward the service entrance to the bakery.

“What if something happened, Aaron?” Neil recognized Nicky’s voice speaking German from inside the door and paused outside.

“Ugh, Nicky don’t talk to me about that gay shit.” The voice sounded alarmingly like Andrew’s, but Neil could tell from the amount of emotion in it (and from Nicky’s directed concern) that it wasn’t Andrew speaking, so he figured it must have been the look alike he saw the last time he was in the bakery. _Huh,_ he thought _, so that’s Aaron._

“No, seriously Aaron. I don’t think he could take a repeat of Dra-”

“ _Don’t say that name_.”

The silence between the two was deadly, and Neil had tensed to the point where even he was trying to keep his breathing down.

“I’m sorry. Look I’m- I’m sorry okay!” Nicky sounded exasperated. “I just don’t want to see him hurt like that again. He doesn’t deserve it.”

Aaron’s voice sounded positively murderous, even more so in the harsh tones of the language he was speaking. “I won’t let that happen.”

“Okay.”

“I mean it Nicky.”

“Yeah, I know.”

Neil pressed a hand against the wall to steady himself, trying to grapple with all the information he had just overheard; he was so caught up in his own head that he barely noticed the door to the bakery opening before it was too late.

A hand whipped out and grabbed him by the front of his shirt and shook him hard.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing here?” Aaron’s voice was all hated and cold venom.

Neil dropped his weight like a stone, causing Aaron’s arm to waver in his grip.

“I’m fucking speaking to you, you piece of shit.”

“Really? Because I couldn’t hear you from all the way down there.”

Aaron all but growled in response. He had all the menacing aspects of Andrew, but with so much more visible ferocity behind it. His hazel eyes were bright and angry, and the silver ring in his ear caught the light whenever he shook Neil.

“Fucking scum-”

“Excuse you, you have no idea who I am, you don’t even know me, and you’re pathetically making a show of force to try and scare me, you’re not succeeding, just by the way, so I’d suggest putting me down before you strain yourself too hard from the effort.”

Aaron dropped him immediately and smashed a fist in his face so hard, Neil almost saw stars.

He caught his footing and took a step back from Aaron, eyes narrowing and head cocked to the side.

“I knew it must have been too difficult for you to use words like a civilized person, a child can throw a punch. But I guess it’d be hard to tell difference between you and an eight year old.” Neil spat blood in Aaron’s face before neatly dodging his next blow and landing a hook to Aaron’s stomach. Aaron shrank for a moment, leaning on the wall for support, before his leg shot out and caught Neil in a sore spot above his knee. Neil winced at the contact and quickly moved his weight to his other leg; Aaron took the opportunity to push off the wall for support.

“I’m going to fucking gut you if you ever lay your hands on Andrew again,” Aaron snarled, arms up and ready to go. “They won’t even find your body after.”

“I’ve faced worse, a midget like you doesn’t scare me.”

Aaron leapt at Neil, fist flying forward with a punch aimed for his jaw, but a hand reached out and stopped him before he hit his mark.

The alley was suddenly very quiet.

“Josten.”

“Andrew.”

Neil looked over to Andrew who’s eyes were locked on Aarons, a hint of anger visible behind his eyes, and wiped the blood that was trickling from his nose off with this sleeve.

“Get out.”

“Technically we’re outside, Andrew.” Neil never could keep his mouth shut when he was supposed to.

“ _Now Josten_.”

Aaron’s chest was heaving as he looked incredulously from his brother to Neil, anger still evident from the tension he held in his shoulders.

“You know there’s a nicer way of saying that.”

Andrew looked Neil dead in the eyes.

“Fuck you.”

Neil shrugged. “Better luck next time.”

He spun around and walked out of the alley back through the door he came, and didn’t look back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Clarification: Matt is black, Neil is half persian/half white, Dan is latina  
> hmu for hcs abt these lil dweebs being smol (or in matt's case tol) and brown


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Listened to a lot of Brand New for this one; I have no idea why I keep giving y'all music updates but here we go.

“I don’t need you to fight my battles for me.” Andrew’s voice was almost painfully emotionless; he was keeping himself in check, keeping all the little crumbling parts of him together. 

Three weeks ago he had kissed a boy with blue eyes who was wrapped in lies and Andrew couldn’t get enough. 

“Well you weren’t fighting them, so someone had to!” Aaron still looked like he was ready to throw a punch in the next moment, and Andrew’s arm hadn’t moved from where he had held it out to stop him. 

Three weeks ago he pressed that boy against the wall and tried to memorize the feeling of their skin pressed against each other. 

“I’m not going to repeat myself again, I don’t need you to fight my battles for me.” 

Three weeks ago he had told Neil not to touch and Neil has shoved his hands in his pockets as far as they would go while Andrew kissed him like he was trying to find the only truth in the world on Neil’s lips. 

The twins had a staring contest, Andrew’s cool, unaffected gaze against Aaron’s angry, nearly burning one. 

Three weeks ago he had run away,  _ like a fucking coward _ , because this boy had started to wedge himself into Andrew’s heart, something Andrew didn’t think was possible.

“You know how much I hate it when you two speak Korean around me,” Nicky whined, walking into the alley. 

“Not the time,” Aaron snapped at him in German. “Not the fucking time Nicky.” 

Nicky threw his hands up in front of him. “I was just checking to see what all the yelling was about! Also why Neil just walked into the cafe with a bleeding face and the beginnings of a black eye…” 

Though he had been motionless up until Nicky’s announcement, Andrew processed the information with a twist of his fist in Aaron’s shirt. 

“Don’t touch my things.” 

The words were harsh coming out of his mouth, the only thing that gave away how he truly felt, and Nicky pulled a face when he was once again pushed out of the conversation.

“Is he yours now?” Aaron’s words were a challenge, a pressure against the promise they had made each other when they met, when they graduated high school, when they graduated college. They were there for each other and no one else; it was them against the world. 

“Is Katelyn yours?” Andrew spat, shoving Aaron away from him and turning to walk out of the alley in the opposite direction from where Nicky had come. 

“Andrew, where are you going?” Nicky called out in German. 

Andrew simply ignored him in favour of preserving his sanity.

Three weeks ago, Andrew remembered that it was all a lie. There was no  _ this _ , there never had been. Neil didn’t swing, and if he did, there was no way he would want someone as monumentally fucked as Andrew, and it would be the best for everyone if Andrew saved himself before his mind got too out of hand.

“Well shit.” Nicky sighed in defeat. 

  
  


When Andrew finally made it  home, the cats were waiting for him. Sir Fat Cat meowed and rubbed his head against Andrew’s shins, tripping Andrew as he tried to walk into the apartment. King Fluffkins was waiting patiently for Andrew on the countertop, right next to the cabinet where andrew kept the Fancy Feast. 

“You’re such a shit.” Andrew reached over to scratch under King’s face as he picked up Sir with his other hand. 

“Both of you are.” 

He let Sir paw at his face before wrapping the small but plump kitten around his neck so he could go about making lunch. 

King meowed irritatedly from his perch (if a cat could meow irritatedly, it would sound like this and it would very much be uttered by Andrew’s cat). Andrew rolled his eyes and opened the cabinet to bring out a tin of Fancy Feast for King, opening it up and putting it in a little bowl before placing it beside King on the countertop. 

“Do you want some too?” He asked Sir. Sir just kept purring happily around Andrew’s neck and didn’t even bother raising his head to acknowledge he was being spoken to. 

Andrew snorted quietly and went to root through the fridge for something to eat. He had adopted the two of them from the local shelter when he and Aaron had moved into separate apartments. Aaron complained that he couldn’t put up with Andrew’s constant smoking, it was him or the cigarettes, and Andrew had just looked at him blankly until Aaron admitted defeat and packed a bag to leave. The cats weren’t siblings as far as the shelter knew, but they hardly ever left each other alone, curled up sleeping next to each other when Andrew would come in to help volunteer with the cats from time to time, and only socializing with each other in the times when they were awake. Sir Fat Cat wasn’t the prettiest cat, a plain Ginger Tabby, and King Fluffkins was a very pretty black Chantilly-Tiffany cat, but on the few occasions where someone had tried to adopt King without adopting Sir, the person ended up with several very deep scratches in their hand and a different cat going home with them. Andrew eventually gave in and adopted them together when the shelter told him that they were going to be put down, and he had been stuck with them ever since. 

When he had decided on salmon for lunch, he instantly knew he was going to have to make a small amount of it plain for the cats or he would never hear the end of their meowing. He made himself a quiet lunch, with a small plate placed on the counter for the two cats to share (King refused to eat off the ground and whatever King did Sir followed suit). 

Andrew watched his phone from where he had placed it on the counter. He didn’t want to be hoping for a text message that he knew wasn’t coming, but here he was doing exactly that anyway. Andrew wanted and that was never a good thing, never something he knew how to handle. 

“Fucking Josten.”

The cats meowed in agreement. 

  
  


Three weeks ago Andrew met a boy with bright blue eyes and tan skin, dark auburn hair, and the longest eyelashes he had ever seen. 

 

“You’re going to think this is dumb. I’ve just met you today and I know you’re going to think this is dumb, but if you could give me a little…” Neil wrung his hands nervously. “We could, possibly, pretend to date?”

What could this boy possibly want from Andrew? Neil’s concern wasn’t only for Andrew, it was mostly to save his own skin, Andrew knew this, but he could let himself pretend for a moment. If for only a moment, if just for a brief second, he could convince himself that there was someone in the world who might want him, scars and all.

“Okay.” It felt like Andrew was signing his own death certificate. 

“Excuse me?” The tips of Neil’s ears turned pink with shock, and the only thing Andrew could think was how  cute stupid the faint blush was that spread over the tops of Neil’s cheeks.  

“I said okay, Josten. Is there something wrong with your ears?” Andrew hadn’t always been good at sounding unaffected, that had come with practice. 

“Alright. Great. Good.” Neil’s grin tugged at something painful in Andrew’s chest; he didn’t like it. “Any particular reason why?”

Andrew took his time finishing his cigarette, savouring the feeling of tobacco on his tongue and exhaling through his nose. He reached for Neil’s own cigarette after a moment, telling himself that he was keeping it from going to waste (not because he wanted to feel where Neil’s lips had been with his own). “No.”

Neil looked at him fondly; he hated how that expression had grown on him so much so quickly. “Eloquent, aren’t you?”

Andrew only wanted to kill him 60% of the time. It was less than most people. 

He made a low noise in his throat in response, and savoured the laugh that burst out of Neil from it. 

_ 61% _ , he amended to himself. 

  
  


Three weeks ago Andrew had taken a stupid leap.

 

Neil watched him with that quiet, fond look whenever he thought Andrew wasn’t paying attention to him. Or maybe he knew Andrew was always paying attention, he was just choosing to ignore it. Either way, Andrew hated it. 

_ 86% _

Andrew pulled his cigarettes out, putting one in his mouth and holding another one out for Neil. He briefly considered lighting Neil’s cigarette with his own before squashing that intimate moment deep down inside of him with all of his self control. He lit his cigarette and flicked the lighter on under Neil’s without looking at him. 

_ 87% _

He watched the way Neil’s eyes traveled with the smoke, the tendrils spinning and curving in the air between them. He watched the way Neil’s hands held the cigarette between his fingers, careful and cupped like the charcoal he had been holding minutes earlier, cautious of the burn that would follow if he let it drop, but never once taking a of it drag himself. He watched the way Neil chewed on his lip absentmindedly (he had been watching Neil’s mouth for hours now, dark red and pursed, bitten , tempting, everything Andrew knew he couldn’t have). He watched Neil, and hated himself for it. 

_ 88% _

He reminded himself of his own rule; he taught it to Neil for the first time. 

“I don’t like to be touched.” 

Neil’s eyes stopped tracking the smoke and found Andrew’s instead. He nodded, understanding clear in his eyes; he wouldn’t touch. 

Andrew hated him for it. 

_ 89% _

Andrew finished his cigarette and reached for Neil’s, careful for their hands not to touch. He waited to see if his actions would bait a response, but Neil just gave him that fond look again, smothered a little in front of Andrew, but the same look nonetheless. Andrew hated him for it and willed himself not to stare (he failed spectacularly). 

The “Yes or no?” had surprised Andrew, not realizing that the words had slipped from his mouth 

_ Tell me no _ , he thought desperately.  _ Tell me no.  _

Neil had looked at Andrew like he could see through the anger and frustration and unfeeling persona straight down to the want at Andrew’s very core. 

“Yes.” 

And all of Andrew’s self control had shattered. 

_ 90% _

 

Neil didn’t touch him, didn’t even try, just shoved his hands in his pockets while Andrew tried with every fiber of his being to make Neil unravel, feel him bend under Andrew’s touch. He kissed him like a person dying of thirst being given water for the first time. He kissed him like the secrets of the universe could be understood between their lips. He kissed him like he still had hope left. 

And then he remembered that this was all a lie, that there was no this and there never would be. He remembered and remembered and remembered. 

And he hated himself for it. 

 

So he ran away, because it was easier than facing that he let himself hope again, he let himself want. He ran away because it was easier, this time, than fighting his battles, than fighting his demons. It was easier than standing still and letting himself be hurt like last time and the time before that and the time before that (Neil wasn’t them, Neil would never be them, Neil was  _ different _ ). 

Andrew so desperately wanted this boy with his blood red mouth and carefully etched tattoos and lies stitched into the scars on his face. Andrew wanted and wanted and wanted. 

But he knew better than to let himself hope (such a strange little thing with the power to hurt so much). Andrew knew better and he hated himself for it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Andrew's POV was always the goal at some point, so here we are, a whole lot of angst and a little bit of fluff.   
> As for the cats: [Sir Fat Cat McCatterson](http://photorasa.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/11/ginger-tabby-face.jpg) and [King Fluffkins](http://www.catbreedselector.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/04/Chantilly-Cat.jpg)


	8. Chapter 8

If there was anything Neil was truly good at, it was running. Running as far away as he possibly could and not stopping until he was absolutely certain he wasn’t being chased anymore. Neil should have ran when he realized how much he wanted Andrew, how fundamentally different Andrew was from anyone else he had ever met. He should have run before he let himself get too invested. He could hear his mother’s voice, screaming in the back of his head to get out, go, run far, far, away from here.

But he couldn’t.

Neil wanted Andrew more than he had ever wanted something in his life. He wanted this angry boy with the scarred insides and careful hands. Andrew, who was careful with him but didn’t treat him like glass that was about to break. Andrew, who learned where he could press and didn’t ask anything further of him. Andrew, who kissed him like he would devour him whole.

This time, though, he wasn’t running.

Neil walked back into the bakery with his sleeve pressed to his steadily bleeding nose, and ran right into a tall, blonde, and a little terrifying barista tying an apron around their waist.

“Sorry,” Neil’s voice was muffled behind his sleeve.

The barista gave him a once-over, a perfectly arched black eyebrow rising and an unimpressed look settling on their face.

“You must be Neil.”

Neil shrugged, still attempting to stop of the flow of blood from his nose. “Must be.”

They snorted and rolled their eyes. “C’mon, I’ll get you some ice for that.”

Neil opened his mouth to tell them that he was fine, he didn’t need any ice, but the barista cut him off.

“Matt and Dan are making out somewhere, my money is on the storage room, so you’ve got some time to kill before he comes back.”

Neil sighed in defeat and followed them through the doors into the kitchen. He could hear Andrew and Aaron arguing about something in the alley and almost bumped into a frazzled Nicky on his way through the swinging doors.

“Sorry,” he called out in German to Nicky, mostly just to throw him a little bit more. Nicky’s jaw dropped just as the doors swung shut in front of him.

“You’re a little shit aren’t you?”

Neil turned back around as the barista went to get some ice from the fridge.

“I’m Allison by the way,” Allison called out from the other end of the kitchen as Neil st on an open stool by the door.

She walked out holding a plastic bag full of ice and a white kitchen towel.

“Here, this should help.” She pressed the bag gingerly to Neil’s face and he sighed into the cold touch.

“Slow down there cowboy, don’t wanna incur the monster’s wrath.” Allison smirked, tilting her head towards Neil to study him better.

Neil would have rolled his eyes if it didn’t hurt so much to. “Monster?”

“Andrew and Co. Call it an affectionate nickname.”

That started a snort out of him. “Right, affectionate.”

“What the fuck is he doing here Allison.” Though Neil couldn’t see where the voice was coming from, it was undeniably Aaron speaking to him.

“Getting some ice for that pathetic hit of yours. Maybe you should learn a thing or two from your brother, at least then it won’t be so sad to watch you try.”

Allison watched Neil with an impressed look creeping across her face.

“Go on, get, monster number 2, Renee’s working the register by herself and needs a barista.” She waved him off without another glance and hopped onto the counter next to Neil, moving the ice off of his face to check the swelling.

“It looks like it’s not going to bruise at least. Oh and your nose stopped bleeding.” She said it in such an offhanded way that she could have been commenting about the weather with the same amount of enthusiasm.

Neil scrunched up his nose to test out how sore it would be; it only stung a bit.

“So,” Allison put the ice pack down and twisted so she was facing Neil directly. “What exactly did you do to piss off the other monster so badly?”

“Andrew’s not a monster.” Neil snapped.

“If you say so.” Allison shrugged, but took Neil’s dodge with grace. “Whatever it was, he’s been moping around for the past three weeks and if you could maybe do something about that I think we all would really appreciate it.”

She hopped off the counter and walked towards the doors before pausing and turned to look back at Neil. “He lives a couple blocks away, do you want his address?”

Neil blinked a few times, trying to wrap his head around what just happened. Andrew had been _moping_ ? Because of _him_? Andrew, who had run away from him when they had kissed, who hadn’t spoken to him for days and then randomly showed up to his door with pastries that meant so much more to him than he let on, who stopped his brother from trying to pound Neil’s face in. Andrew was moping about him.

“Uh, yeah, I guess?”

Allison grinned like she had just won the jackpot.

“Perfect, here I’ll text it to you.”

  


When Neil knocked on the door to Andrew’s apartment, he instinctively stepped out of view from the peep hole. Jeremy and Jean were used to this, whenever someone knocked they hardly thought twice about opening the door, let alone checking to see who had come. Alvarez and Laila found it funny to tap out melodies when they knocked on people’s doors, so Neil did the same to them, and so they always let him in without checking either. Neil did it out of habit, rather than actively avoiding Andrew, so when he didn’t get an answer the first time, he tried knocking again.

“I swear to fucking god if it’s some fucking kid playing ding dong ditch,” Neil could hear Andrew mutter in Russian. The phrase was so absurd when  contrasted with the rough way the words came out of Andrew’s mouth startled a laugh out of Neil.

Andrew was suddenly dead quiet.

“How did you get my address?”

“Allison.” Neil waited for a moment, but when it was clear that Andrew wasn’t going to continue their conversation he called out “Are you going to invite me in or are we going to continue to have this conversation through your door?”

“I don’t know Josten, it’d be fitting considering your response the other day when I showed up at your door.” There was a hint of bitterness in Andrew’s tone that wasn’t there before. “We had an entire conversation through a door. Oh wait, we didn’t, because you were being a cowardly piece of shit.”

“I’m not the one who ran away after you kissed me.” Neil snapped.

They were at a standstill; Andrew had reached out and Neil had ignored him, now Neil was reaching out and Andrew had no patience for it.

“Just open the door Andrew.”

The door didn’t budge.

“Andrew for shit’s sake.”

Neil could hear footsteps padding away from the door, and slammed a fist against it to get Andrew’s attention. A loud meow from behind the door and a muttered “Motherfucker” from Andrew later and it swung open in front of Neil to reveal Andrew holding a small, fat orange kitten.

“You scared him.” Andrew looked at Neil like he was the most uninteresting thing in the world; Neil tried not to smile in relief.

“I’m very sorry. Now can I come in?”

“I don’t know, can you?” Andrew mocked, putting the cat down beside him. Neil watched the cat rub his head against Andrew’s shins and settle on top of his feet. Andrew was still wearing his armbands, but was in sweats and a tank; he looked the most relaxed Neil had ever seen him.

“May I come in, asshole?” Neil leaned on the doorframe, arms crossed.

“Do what you want, Josten.” Andrew turned around and walked further inside the apartment, upsetting the cat that was getting comfortable at his feet. Neil just sighed and closed the door behind him. He found Andrew sitting on a couch in what he guessed to be the living room with a small black cat curled up by his head.

“My turn or yours?” Neil asked as he sat down; Andrew’s eyes tracked his movements.

“Your’s.”

Neil hummed, pretending to think about it. In reality he had come up with a plan as to how this conversation was going to go on the walk over there; Andrew’s apartment wasn’t exactly far away from the foxhole, but it wasn’t exactly nearby either.

“What’s under your armbands?”

It was a question that was bound to come up, but it still caught Andrew off guard, Neil could tell by the blank look that flitted across his face for a moment. Andrew leaned farther back into the arm of the couch, watching Neil with the most closed off expression that Neil had seen on his face yet. Very slowly and very carefully, Andrew peeled one of the bands down off of his arm, taking his time and ever once breaking eye contact with Neil.

Under the band, from Andrew’s wrist to the crook of his elbow, his skin was covered in long, silvery white scars. It wasn’t only the skin on the inside of his forearm, but all over, small lines carved into the softness of Andrew’s arm; some crooked, some straight, some paper thin, and some so thick that Neil was sure they must have needed stitches. He wanted to touch Andrew, run his hands over the parts of him that he couldn’t let the world see, but he knew not to; Andrew didn’t like to be touched. A muscle jumped in Andrew’s arm as Neil continued to stare, and his hands itched to pull his bands back on and stop Neil from staring.

Just as carefully as Andrew had barred himself plainly to Neil, Neil returned the favour by peeling his own shirt off. He rolled his back to straighten up and let andrew see his scarring, his tattoos, the bullet wound and the long scar that ran the length of his sternum from his final meeting with his father. The ugly parts of him that told a story that Neil could never say with words.

There the two boys sat, opposite each other, a challenge hovering in the air but never quite spoken. Andrew’s eyes followed the way the vines twisted around Neil’s biceps and bled into the black, clean lines on his forearms. He could name a few of the flowers that bloomed across Neil’s skin; white lilies blossoming on his shoulders, foxglove and snapdragon lining his clavicle, creeping myrtle filling in the gaps. Neil took a deep breath and folded in on himself, showing Andrew the blue patches of forget-me-nots on his shoulder blades amidst several vividly red begonias that hid curved scars that looked like claw marks down Neil’s back.

Neil looked up at Andrew. “Your turn.”

“How did your father die?”

Neil smiled, dark and without humor. “I killed him.” He sat up and indicated the long scar down his sternum. “This was his goodbye.”

Andrew hardly blinked at the information.

“Why did you run away?”

“Next question.”

Neil frowned.

“That’s not how this works, Andrew.”

“Next question, Josten.” Andrew hadn’t pulled the band back onto his arm yet, but the threat hung in the air. He was trusting Neil with this one little part of him, Neil had to be careful not to push him too far and risk losing it.

“Andrew, please just-”

“I hate that word.” In a flash, Andrew had pulled the band back over his arm and sat as far away from Neil as he could on the couch, arms crossed over his chest. Neil wasn’t feeling particularly fond of putting a blood encrusted shirt back on his body, so he sat there shirtless and defiant in front of Andrew.

“Fine then, Andrew just tell me, what-” Neil leaned forward, almost close enough to touch Andrew if he wanted to.

“No.”

Neil froze.

“Okay.”

“Next question.”

“Do you want to stop doing this?” Neil gestured between them, still careful not to touch Andrew, but not quite moving back to where he had been sitting either.

Andrew looked Neil dead in the eye. “There is no _this_.”

“And if I wanted there to be?”

“You’re lying.” Andrew’s guard hadn’t slipped, but Neil could see a little bit of truth slipping out from the edges.

“Not about this.” Neil’s voice was hoarse, as if he had been yelling for hours instead of hardly saying anything for the past few minutes. “I lie about a lot of things, but not about this.”

“You don’t know me, Josten.” Andrew’s grip on his arms was so tight, Neil could see the blood leaving his fingers with how white they turned.

“I know enough to trust you, to want to know more.” Neil tried to keep the pleading out of his voice and instead the overwhelming want rushed out.

“That’s stupid.” Andrew’s hands still hadn’t relaxed.

“I’ve been known to make stupid decisions sometimes.” Neil smirked.

“You don’t want this.”

“Don’t tell me what I want, Andrew.”

Neil’s voice was challenging as he leaned so close to Andrew that Andrew could count the individual lashes that fanned out against Neil’s cheek when he blinked. The air was still and the world had narrowed down to the two of them. Two boys covered in scars (one his own and one from others), hiding behind words and fabric, and desperately grasping at something they both thought they couldn’t ever have but wanted so fiercely they would tear the world apart to get it. Hope was a disquieting feeling, but, oh, how they hoped.

They were both quiet for a moment, Neil watching Andrew and Andrew watching Neil. Eventually, Andrew let go of his arms and Neil’s posture relaxed.

“Yes or no?” Andrew whispered, tilting his head up towards Neil.

Neil’s face broke open into a magnificent smile.

“ _Yes_.”

  
(Maybe there was someone who wanted him after all, scars and all.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow it's over. 
> 
> thank you to everyone who left such sweet and encouraging comments, all the lovely people who left kudos, and my friends who yelled at me a lot whenever i updated (double thanks to luna for the idea and carol for being gr10 abt betaing the shit i didn't post while she was asleep and letting me ramble on and on abt this fic a whole bunch).  
> i hope y'all enjoy these two dumb dweebs getting their shit together as much as I did writing it. 
> 
> <3
> 
> (xoxo gossip fox)  
> (ps [this is what allison looks like](http://cdnph.upi.com/sv/ph/og/upi/7401435609437/2015/5/0eeeb904e330e95b0ed392a933718e4a/v2.1/Karrueche-Tran-goes-blonde-for-2015-BET-Awards.jpg))

**Author's Note:**

> Come say hi on [tumblr](http://tooruoikawa.co.vu) or [twitter](http://twitter.com/virquo)!


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